


To Throw Down the Sun

by ExperimentalMadness



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Heavy Angst, Mental Instability, there are some depictions of violence bordering on domestic violence please be advised
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-31
Updated: 2015-05-31
Packaged: 2018-04-01 20:30:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 59,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4033528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ExperimentalMadness/pseuds/ExperimentalMadness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It has been one year since Corypheus' defeat at the hands of the Inquisition, but all is not peaceful in the life of Inquisitor Yael Lavellan. The voices speak to her from the Well of Sorrows, disapproving of her involvement with a Chantry organization and her love for a Templar shem. There is power stirring far to the West that she is inexplicably drawn to, a power that may very well hold the key to the justice long denied her people. Losing ground within her own mind as the voices tear her apart from the inside, Yael is divided between her role as Keeper and Inquisitor. Slowly she succumbs to the will of the voices and abandons the Inquisition to seek answers and perhaps a way to cure herself of the curse of the Well. But there are certain people in her life that will not let her disappear so easily.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the Dragon Age Big Bang, and I have to say it's been a very long time since I've written a multi-chaptered fic this enormous. I'm so very excited to finally share it with all of you! I had the absolute pleasure of working with the amazingly talented hornkerling who created a podfic to accompany this! As a final note of warning to all my readers, while this fic doesn't have any real triggers this is a story about a character going through an incredible amount of mental instability that may prove troubling to a few people. There are also depictions of mental torture and intimate partner violence, that while not remotely in the lane of abuse could prove triggering for some. Just stay safe when reading. I'll make notes of which chapters are more disconcerting. :) 
> 
> Now please do enjoy!

The lacework of the Orlesian mask itched abominably. And the silver inlays around the eyes probably made her look like some kind of ghoul, Yael was certain of it. She sighed, although trying to breath out in her tight-fitting uniform was equally as uncomfortable as moving her head in this Creator’s cursed mask. She shuffled awkwardly from foot to foot, nodding every so often at the long line of nobles walking up to greet her to a chorus of “Your Grace. Your Worship. Your Eminence.”

Empress Celene looked as radiant as ever at her side. She curtsied at every bow, a practiced smile of grace and openness upon her face. One could see her fine pale skin even under the golden mask she wore. She had had such a mask commissioned specifically for tonight’s celebrations, as had Yael’s own.

A year had come and gone since the war and Orlais intended to celebrate in true fashion. As the Inquisitor, Yael Lavellan had not only been invited, she had been presented as a guest of honor, and in the spirit of the celebrations she had found herself been treated second only to the Empress herself.

Josephine had been practically giddy the day she had informed her of the honor. Yael had done her best not throw herself off the highest balcony in Skyhold.

She bowed again as another family introduced themselves. Yael could feel cold stares all around her. Turning her head ever so slightly she could see the full Orlesian court peppered around the grand Halamshiral ballroom. The last time she had set foot in this pit of vipers, her reception had been much the same, although then it was laced with slightly more open malice and tittering from the crowd. The Inquisition had been in its infancy then and they had still needed to prove themselves a power to be reckoned with. Now they were the strongest force in Thedas, yet still the shemlen nobles whispered behind their fans and their masks about the knife-ear who had risen far above her natural station.

Anger, a soft and warm comforting broil just under her skin, simmered quietly as she endured fake smile after fake smile. Yael counted herself lucky; unlike her imperial counterpart she did not have to please anyone. Half the world feared her rather than loved her and she was satisfied with the arrangement. She let the miserable mask do its job and paint a face of joviality and celebration. Meanwhile she had a headache the size of the Frostbacks…

At last the end of the procession had reached them and Yael quietly uttered several prayers to the Creators in thanks. As the attendees took their leave, Empress Celene gave a courteous nod to all before she gracefully turned on her heels to leave the dais.

Falling into step alongside her, Yael walked up the grand staircase to the upper levels of the ballroom.

“Now that is certainly something to keep the courts talking for an age. The Empress of Orlais and the Inquisitor of Thedas side by side as one united power,” Celene mused, folding her hands through the long sleeves of her ballgown.

“I find that it does not take much to set courts talking these days.”

“Very true, Inquisitor, but it is the subject of the talks that one should always be considered with.”

“I have more to concern myself with than gossip.”

Celene’s laugh was as clear as a bell. “Ah, I do forget how singular a person you are, dear Inquisitor.”

Yael bristled, knowing full well when she was being led around by invisible leashes. “Your Majesty, I have offended you somehow?” and she did not care. But Josephine would murder her in her sleep for not acting as though she did.

“Oh on the contrary no indeed,” Celene waved a jeweled hand. “I often forget that you do not play the Game.”

“Not so well, you mean.”

“Not at all, I dare say.”

Yael raised an unseen brow, eyeing the Empress most quizzically. Frustrations aside, Yael found the woman to be a shrewd and keen intellect and while she would never go so far as to say she admired Celene, she did respect the power she commanded. As easy as she made it seem, Yael knew it was anything but.

Celene must have seen her looking, her clever eyes missed nothing, and Yael nearly leapt back when the woman placed a hand upon her upper arm. “May I give you some advice, Inquisitor?”

Yael nodded and Celene’s voice suddenly switched from the airy pleasant tones they had previously exuded to a deeper, far more serious inflection. “The Game can save lives as well as end them. We are all players here, and not all are as honest in their sport as you. I do not forget how you saved my life once before. Consider this a friendly warning as it were...you have many enemies.”

“And they are here tonight?”

Celene released her arm and smiled. “Oh my dear Inquisitor, you delightful tease!” she laughed loudly and exuberantly, “But you must have many admirers to attend to tonight, I would not hoard all of your attention. Go and enjoy the celebrations, after all without you none of us would be here to partake in such joys tonight.”

Yael did not know much about how the Game was truly played, but she knew enough to register that someone was listening nearby. Yael did not return the Empress’ smile, merely bowed low to her. “Then I take my leave of you, Your Majesty,” said with just the same amount of disinterested flattery that marked her as a poor player of the Game.

She walked through the open corridors around the perimeter of the ballroom. May the Void take the whole of this blasted empire! Painted and masked faces stared at her as she walked, full of fawning smiles and delicate turns of the head. What did Celene mean she had enemies here tonight? How was that different than it ever was when she visited Orlais? Half the shemlen in the empire hated her, that had not changed. As far as she was concerned they were all her enemies. If one or two of them dared to attack her openly tonight, well then at the very least she’d get some decent action and the death of a few shemlen and the night wouldn’t have been a total waste.

As she guessed, Josephine found her first. Her ambassador joined her at her side and Yael paused in her turn about the room and took momentary rest against one of the marble pillars.

“You performed remarkably, Inquisitor,”Josephine said with a smile, the first genuine smile she had seen since she had entered the front gates of the palace. “Half the court is already talking of how well you appeared alongside the Empress.”

Rather like a good mabari hound alongside a Ferelden lord, no doubt. But Yael kept those unsavory thoughts to herself. “Empress Celene had some rather interesting things to say to me.”

“I saw the two of you talking as you left the dais. Whatever did she tell you?”

“Nothing we don’t already know. I am a terrible player at the Game and the Inquisition has enemies. And the sky is blue and Orlais is full of liars.”

A frown pulled at the corner of Josephine’s mouth. “Of course there are always rumors of individuals vying for power against us. That is to be expected. She did not tell you who these enemies were did she?”

“What?” Yael laughed rather more viciously than she meant to, “And spoil the great Game? Josephine I’m surprised at you.”

Her ambassador sighed, “I suspected as much. Ah...let us just keep an eye out. No one would be so mad as to attack you tonight.”

“You sure about that?” Yael asked, “Remember what happened the last time we were here?”

“Altogether too well,” Josephine smiled. “Do try to enjoy the ball, Inquisitor. And do restrain yourself, don’t set all of the Orlesian nobility on fire.”

“You are always ruining my fun, Josie,” Yael winked.

She felt better having talked to the woman. Josephine belonged in this atmosphere, she excelled at this moving war of words, turned it almost into a higher art that mesmerized Yael. It was a skill she was never going to possess, much to her friend’s constant chagrin.

Breathing out she kept up her perimeter, casually as she could. She caught sight of Sera down the hall and waved. Her fellow elf was no doubt up to some pranks against the nobles, who knows, she might even join her at it later. Josephine couldn’t exactly yell at her for that, it wouldn’t be as if she was setting anyone fire.

Varric was chatting with a gaggle of young ladies who, by the sound of it, were greatly amused by whatever the clever dwarf had to say. If he was uncomfortable by all the high-born attention he certainly never let on.

Vivienne was dancing below, the absolute jewel of the evening in her newest gown. She looked happy at the envious stares, Yael smiled under her mask, and knowing her the enchantress had a running tally of just who was giving her such jealous looks.

Yael strolled through the crowds until she reached the windows leading to the open balcony. Stepping outside was like stepping into a warm bath, the night air was crisp and refreshing and the music and murmuring of the crowd faded into a background chorus of cricket chirps and rustling leaves.

She leaned out over the railing. All along the other balconies she could see groups of people talking pleasantly and drinking together. From this distance it looked almost friendly. Ah, just another few short minutes and then she’d go back inside and play the good socialite, Yael promised herself. Her head gave a sickening throb that was just shy of genuinely worrisome.

“I thought I’d find you out here.”

Yael turned her head to see the Commander of the Inquisition’s armies walking over to her, a lopsided smirk upon his face.

“Sick of tonight’s celebrations already?” He came to stand alongside her.

“Aren’t you?”

“Only too well.”

“No one’s bothered you have they, ma’vhenan?” she straightened up, remembering the hordes of nobles that had swarmed the man the last time they had come to the palace.

“No more than usual,” he shrugged. He must have sensed her sudden anger for he placed a gloved hand upon her masked cheek. “Don’t fret, Yael.”

Sighing, Yael pulled off the silver and lace mask, blinking as fresh air graced her skin. “How much longer do we have to be here, do you think?”

“All night, most likely.”

“Didn’t I save the world?” Yael groaned, “Why am I being punished, then?”

Cullen snickered and stole a quick kiss. “Tonight doesn’t have to be entirely miserable, you know.”

Yael nudged him with her shoulder and the two of them fell into a comfortable silence. Cullen played with the ends of her hair, fingers idly weaving through the small braid on the mostly shaven side of her head.

“Remember the last time we were here?” he asked her.

“And the mess I nearly made of everything?” Yael couldn’t help, but laugh. They both looked over at one another and Yael felt a moment’s normalcy counteract the headache and the noise.

“No, I meant...here...on this balcony.”

“Of course I do.” She remembered being so exhausted she thought she’d collapse right then and there. All the annoyance and humiliation running through her making her want to combust with rage and that’s how Cullen had found her. He had been the only one to ask if she had been alright; she had been startled to hear that he had been worried for her.

“Why?” she asked teasingly, “Are you about to ask me to dance again?”

“Maker, no!” he smiled until he realized how his words might be misconstrued. The look of sudden horror that crossed his face made Yael nearly double up with laughter. “I...I mean...no that wasn’t…”

“Only joking, ma’vhenan.”

“Right, of course.”

He seemed nervous, more so than usual. Yael didn’t believe him for a second when he told her he had gone unbothered by the nobility. The last time they had been here he had been pestered, teased, propositioned, and grabbed at by nearly every noble in the palace. They should just stay out here for the remainder of the evening, Yael decided, feeling Cullen place his hand over hers. There’d be an almighty scandal, the cries of every eligible man and woman would echo across Orlais, she’d no doubt receive several notices of open condemnation by half the nobility in the Empire and an additional dozen assassination attempts. It sounded marvelous.

She winced as her head throbbed.

Outrage moved deep beneath her skin, beneath her own thoughts to voices that were and weren’t her own.

_This place was once ours._

_This place. Ours. Ours._

_You walk on the graves of your ancestors._

No, Yael concentrated, this couldn’t happen now. She closed her eyes and sank into a familiar pattern of breathing. It was only a few stray whispers in her head at the moment, but if she let it, it would grew to a cacophony of bitter cries. The voices from the Well were not so easily silenced, but she had been master of her own mind all her life and she didn’t intend to hand over that power now.

“Yael?” Cullen asked, “Is something wrong?”

Images of a far older city flashed behind her eyes. Halamshiral as it was. The remaining elven capital in the Dales, the last seat of their true power before the Exalted Marches scattered them for good. She could feel it, the buried anger, the betrayal, rose up deep within her and lingered--a radiating flame at the center of her as the voices revealed everything.

A hand upon her shoulder brought her back.

She blinked open her eyes and immediately regretted it. The headache had blossomed into something defying description. The voices were angered at being ignored. They always were. Her thoughts crowded and crashed against a gathering of words and images that did not belong to her alone.

Yael found herself drawn up against Cullen, his arm slung around her, tucking her head just under his chin.

A thin laugh shook Yael. “Someone is bound to see.”

“Let them.”

“Well,” she croaked out, feeling as if she had marched double time over the Frostbacks twice, “never thought I’d see the day when Cullen Stanton Rutherford would be arguing for a scandal.”

“I can tell Cassandra or Josephine that you are unwell. That you should retire early.”

“Oh no, that would be worse than if anyone saw us as we are.”

Yael gently removed herself from Cullen’s arms. She drew in a deep, rattling breath, letting the cool night air filter down into her lungs. Her head was clearing, the voices growing silent once more, well as silent as they ever became. They faded into a background whisper of words and shadowed images that were easily ignorable if one had the will. The pain remained, sharp and prodding at the base of her skull, but there was nothing to be done about that except wait for it to pass.

She looked over at her anxious Commander. Yael doubted that the man knew how heartrending he could make his expressions be otherwise he’d know to use it more often. She smiled, lips ineffectually tugging upwards in something of a grin. “I’m fine, Cullen, it’s just a bad headache.”

That seemed to be code for quite a few ailments for the both of them and she knew it didn’t fool him for a second. “I should go back.”

Protests formed silently on Cullen’s lips. Yael could see them all. “You know I hate this game as much as you do, but it’s only for one night.”

“Will you do me one favor, then?”

“And what would that be?”

“Meet me back here before the night is over. I have...something I wish to discuss with you.”

“Oh, now I’m intrigued,” Yael laughed.

“Are you certain you’re alright?” Cullen asked again. If he wasn’t careful he’d have new worry lines across his brow soon enough.

“Perfectly,” Yael grinned through the sharp pain, raising herself up onto the tips of her feet and pressing a kiss to the man’s lips.

Cullen knew better than to follow immediately after her. Yael turned and walked back into the oppressive heat and crowd of the ballroom. As soon as she put her mask back in place she began to miss the night air and the quiet peace she had barely managed to regain with Cullen.

The night blurred into one long endless repetitive noise. Yael let herself be whisked along with the frenzied energy of the celebrations. She was introduced to so many people she didn’t bother to remember their names. Thankfully, no one had asked her to dance. Maybe a few of the nobles recalled what a dismal dancer she was. If the night was to be forced smiles and the yammering of a few words Yael believed she might actually survive it.

The pain never truly dissipated as she would have wished. Lately it seemed to be harder to recover from the voices when they spoke up, but she would set that to rights when she returned to Skyhold. More research on the Well of Sorrows and what it had done to her was clearly needed.

She had spent the past year discovering what this new connection had done to her. While others had expressed their doubts that she’d be able to master its power, she had proven them wrong. The voices were guides. Nothing more. Pain spiked at the base of her neck as if to contradict her, but Yael shook her head and went on.

Hours went by in this manner and it was only on her second pass up out of the vestibule and back into the ballroom that Yael felt as if she was being watched.

A chill itched at the side of her neck and she stole a glance out of the corner of her eye. There were large groups of people talking amongst themselves. Yael scanned the crowd. Someone moved, walking solitarily away from the group. Yael tried to follow. The figure was masked and didn’t strike Yael as immediately threatening. Yet there was something…

The figure, Yael was now most certain that it was a woman, moved with a casual grace. Clad in a rather nondescript blue uniform. Could have been an officer from Jadar? It was impossible to tell. Maybe the headache was merely making her paranoid, but Celene had warned her of enemies amongst the crowd tonight.

“Inquisitor,” a voice at her side interrupted Yael’s tracking. By the time she looked back over to the uniformed woman, she had disappeared amongst the crowd.

“Have I disturbed you?”

Cassandra Pentaghast stood at formal attention before her. Normally her rigid attitude would annoy her, but tonight Yael rather appreciated it. “Josephine asked I check in with you.”

“Cassandra, you haven’t noticed anything...out of place tonight have you?” Yael asked, eyes still scanning the corridor.

“Nothing of any particular note,” Cassandra immediately followed Yael’s gaze. “Why? What have you seen?”

“Possibly nothing,” Yael murmured. “But keep alert. I’ve been advised that we may not be surrounded by entirely friendly faces. Hard as that might be to believe, I know.”

“Do we know anything for certain?”

“Only that we have enemies. Who they are and what they may be doing here I don’t know.”

“I’ll make sure our people are notified.”

Yael nodded. It was not often she got along with the Seeker, but tonight she was appreciative of the woman’s swift action.

The mysterious woman never did show her face again and by the end of the night Yael was beginning to doubt if she had actually seen her at all, or if it hadn’t been an image conjured by the voices. The pain had more or less begun to fade out to something just shy of bearable, but perhaps that was brought on less by her own control and more by the knowledge that soon she would be departing this loathsome shem infested palace for good. She didn’t even want to think about the next time she’d be returning.

Before she notified the others to begin to plan their departure, Yael made her way back to the balcony doors. A promise was a promise after all.

Cullen was there, or rather attempting to make his way there. He was stopped up against the glass windows, surrounded by a fawning group of admirers. He looked to be trying to make his excuses to back away, however unsuccessful he was.

“Commander,” Yael barked as she strode over, “I must speak with you.”

If she had been a cleverer woman when it came to words she’d have found a better turn of phrase to excuse Cullen. All eyes turned to her and she fixed them with an uncaring glower. She knew some of the younger nobles thought of her as a frightening savage. If she had an ounce less of control she would have bared her teeth at them to hammer the impression home.

“At once.” She snapped, letting her voice cut in the way she did when giving her troops direct orders.

“Of course, Inquisitor,” Cullen replied, relief evident in his voice. “If you will all excuse me?”

He practically slid his way around the nobles until he was outside of the confining circle of their presence. Yael gave him a nod and gestured out towards the balcony. Cullen led the way with Yael following up. Petty though it was, she couldn’t help but give the gaggle of disappointed admirers one final penetrating glare. If they talked of her at all tonight it would be with accusations of her harsh treatment of their beloved Commander. Good. She looked forward to reading the heartbroken letters in the coming weeks.

Vicious thoughts fell out of her head as Cullen grabbed her and pressed a rather enthusiastic kiss to her lips. “You have an excellent sense of timing.”

“I do my best,” she smiled and removed her mask once again. “Although I imagine this won’t make me any more popular in the Orlesian courts.”

“They shall have to learn to live with disappointment.”

“Oh, I do like it when we disregard propriety,” she grinned wickedly, “Remember last time how we conspired to throw the entire court into the Breach?”

“A missed opportunity if you ask me.”

Yael shook with silent laughter. Soon they’d be back on their way to Skyhold, and Yael had to admit she was rather looking forward to the trip back.

“You said there was something you wanted to discuss with me?” she asked.

“Yes...I...yes I had hoped that…I mean yes I did want to…”

“Creators,” Yael laughed, “It isn’t anything serious is it?”

“No! But...yes, ah, Maker’s breath…”

He took both her hands in his, squeezing lightly. His gaze was trained down at their feet and Yael had to marvel at his sudden anxiety. He exhaled, it sounded almost shaky and for half a moment Yael became genuinely concerned.

“It’s been a year since the end of the war and so much has changed since then. I wanted a way to show you--to tell you, all that you’ve done...I could never have anticipated meeting someone like you. Not after all that had happened in Kirkwall, and with the chaos of the Breach, you’ve been a wonder from the start.”

Yael felt her face grow hot. She looked away from him, never knowing what to say or how to react when he became so sentimental. Discomfort clawed at her in the pit of her belly, a wild, scrabbling sensation that almost made her want to pull away. It was met immediately by shame.

“I suppose if someone had told me I’d choose to willingly spend most of my days with a Templar shem, I’d have thought they were mad too. Before I set them on fire, of course,” she said in a half breathless laugh.

“Maker, you _hated_ me when we first met!” Cullen smiled.

“More than I am probably allowed to put into words. Don’t play games, ma’vhenan. You weren’t overfond of me either at the start.”

“That is not true,” Cullen shook his head. “You were infuriating yes...unpredictable. But you were strong, anyone could see the command you wielded over people, as if you had it all your life. And you were kind,” Yael tried to remove her hands from his and turn away, but he gripped her harder, “You were. You are. Though you hate it when I remind you of this,” he laughed, although it sounded more like a sudden exhale.

“I cannot think of my life before you were a part of it and I cannot imagine a future without you in it. I wanted to…”

Yael covered his mouth with her hand, choking off his words and hushing him. “Did you hear that?” she whispered.

There had been a rustling against the trees though the wind had not picked up. She could hear something, a dull scraping of leather against stone. “Listen,” she urged, removing her hand.

Confused, Cullen did as he was bid. Thank the Creators he trusted her instincts enough not to argue with her. He looked at her with wide eyes when heard the scraping sound as well, coming at intervals. “Someone is climbing the walls,” he replied, softly.

Yael nodded. Whoever they were they were directly below them on the railing. “And it sounds as if--”

An arrow shot past her face and only an early scream of warning in her head made her leap back before it could lodge itself in her skull. Snipers in the trees. Mythal curse them. Before she could move a shadowed weight crashed directly into her. She grunted in surprise and tried to roll to avoid being pinned by the figure.

Magic flooded Yael’s body on instinct as she threw up a barrier, causing the attacker to bounce off of her, forcing them away and giving her time to rise to her feet. Damn them, she was unarmed and without her staff.

“Yael!”

Cullen hauled the attacker to their feet and landed a punch square on their face. The figure elbowed Cullen in the jaw and struggled free. In the flicker of the candle light from the other side of the window, Yael recognized the blue dress uniform. The woman.

Forgoing magic for the moment, Yael barrelled straight into the woman’s back, throwing her down onto the floor. She gripped the woman by the collar of her uniform and slammed her head onto the stone. Dazed, but undeterred the woman brandished a knife pulled from the sleeve of her jerkin. Yael grunted as the knife caught her shoulder, a lance of white-hot pain blooming out of the gash that appeared.

Forced to let her go, Yael staggered back to avoid another cut from her knife. The woman leapt to her feet. “Blighted creature,” she spat.

Yael backed up towards the railing of the balcony. She could see Cullen tracking her and Yael kept the woman’s focus on her alone. “What is it that you want?” she snarled. “You think you’re the only one to think they could kill the Inquisitor?”

“You led the Wardens astray and will summon another Blight, traitor!”

“What?”

But there would be no answers. Cullen grabbed the woman as soon as she was close enough to the railing. Yael dodged out of the way as he booted the attacker over the side. Two arrows followed in retaliation from the trees and Yael threw out another wall of magic to block them, they clattered harmlessly to the floor. With another push of magic, Yael sent a rolling wave of force at the tree branches. A piercing scream signaled the sniper’s demise as they plummeted to the courtyard below to join the body of their comrade.

Both Cullen and Yael breathed heavy in the aftermath of the short skirmish. Questions careened through Yael’s head. The Wardens? The Blight? And who had she betrayed? A mad woman? A fanatic? Renegade Venatori left over from the war? And how had they managed to get so close to the palace under full guard? One of the attackers had even been inside the palace. Had she been invited?

“Yael!” Cullen’s shout of alarm caused her to lose her train of thought. “Are you hurt?” His hands went everywhere at once, checking her over for injury.

“I believe I’ll live,” she soothed as he came to the gash on her shoulder and upper arm. “The real question now is who wanted me dead?”


	2. Chapter 2

The commotion Yael had caused upon reentering the Winter Palace was enough to make her scream. The sight of her and the Commander bloodied and bruised sent the guests into a frenzy of screams, pledges of services to find whoever had committed such affrontery, and positively outlandish discussion of others claiming to have seen the culprit.

Yael sat upon a daybed, struggling to keep still as Vivienne healed the gash on her arm. The white healing magic felt cool against the heat of her torn skin, but Yael was hardly in the mood for attendance.

“I want the bodies recovered from the courtyard,” she told Cassandra, “and a full report from the palace guards. I want to know who they saw, when they saw them and how much they were bribed by those uninvited. Josephine, I want diplomats and agents in every major city in Orlais. I want to know everything they know. Understood?”

The two women nodded. Yael gave a frustrated snarl and ran her free hand through her hair, pulling apart the fine braids and letting it hang in the knotted, curling mass it truly was. “Commander,” she turned to Cullen who until moments ago had been ordering their small retinue of soldiers to make a full patrol around the palace grounds. “I want our men to bring in the Wardens. Any we can find. Get them back to Skyhold immediately. Tell them I do not take these threats lightly, considering our history.”

“It will be done, Inquisitor.”

He was bruised as well, a purple and yellow mark already forming on his cheek and jaw from where he had been hit and Yael noticed a thin line of blood trailing down his left arm. He must have been struck and she hadn’t noticed in the chaos. “Vivienne,” she shrugged out of the enchanter’s grasp. “See to the Commander, if you would. I assure you I’ll be fine.”

“No that won’t be necessary, the Inquisitor’s well-being takes priority,” Cullen shook his head.

“The two of you could try the patience of Andraste herself,” Vivienne said with a sigh of professional boredom. “Commander, sit if you would. Inquisitor, remain where you are. If you so much as move away from me again I’ll consider removing your arm. Now, my dear, one can’t rush these things.”

“You didn’t notice anyone suspicious did you?” Yael asked of Vivienne. If anyone would have found an outlier in a crowd it would be her.

Vivienne’s lips pursed as she thought back through the events of the evening. Yael could see her turning over encounters and greetings in her head as if she was recounting them aloud for all to hear. “No, my dear,” she said at last, “I saw no one of any extraordinary note.”

“Creators,” Yael sighed, “Who exactly are we dealing with here?”

“We’ll find the culprits,” Vivienne assured, finishing up her work on Yael’s arm, “And no doubt when we do, you’ll show them the price of their foolishness.”

Yael did not like the enchanter, not a bit. She never had and the feeling was entirely mutual. But she never doubted the woman’s devotion to the Inquisition, nor did she doubt her ruthlessness. It might have been the only mitigating factor preventing them from tearing the other apart.

Yael felt at the freshly healed skin on her shoulder, fumbling with the torn fabric of her sleeve. There was barely even a pink line of a scar to mark where she had been hit. “At the very least,” she conceded, turning to look up at Josephine, “tell me preparations to return to Skyhold are underway.”

Both Josephine and Cassandra exchanged worrying looks that did not instill the greatest confidences in Yael. “Josephine,” she cajoled, “tell me we’re going back to Skyhold.”

“The ah, the empress has graciously invited the representatives of the Inquisition use of the guest wings in the palace for the night.”

“And tell me you graciously refused these requests.”

“We, ah, we accepted, your Worship--”

“ _Fenhedis!_ ”

“Empress Celene is not easily refused, your Worship.” Yael could tell the ambassador was nervous. Josephine never called her titles unless she was in company or worried her latest report would unleash her infamous temper. “Such a gesture is often reserved for family or close councilors. It is a mark of how highly your presence is valued that she extended the offer at all.”

“And with the recent attack I would not want us out on the roads where we could possibly head into an ambush,” Cassandra finished.

It made sense. Creators damn them, she hated when they were right. “Very well,” Yael responded, biting her tongue to keep down the string of curses, “We will return to Skyhold at first light. Until then we’ll enjoy a little more Orlesian hospitality….Creators help us all.”

 

* * *

 

Yael’s dreams had not been her own since the day she drank from the Well. Now she walked ancient corridors of the Fade, guided by hands that were dusted over with age. Yael could always tell when she was dreaming, an old trick her Keeper taught her when she had first grown into her magic. She learned to feel the power in the Fade, feel it surrounding her, her thoughts warping every corner of the ethereal world. Dreams did not frighten her. Not even dreams that were not her own.

She walked through palace courtyards that shimmered in the mid-afternoon light. Her footfalls were quiet on the glass floors. She could see spires of bright crystals growing up towards the sun like flowers, blooming in remarkable colors and patterns, the likes of which she had never seen before. A humming filled her being--less of a melody and more of a whispered sentiment--it stuck to the heart of her and made her drowsy, contented.

From the courtyard, she could hear the trickle of water in a fountain and the murmured speech of courtiers. Shadows crossed her vision, laughter and light conversations floating about the edges of her eyes and ears.

Yael walked down from the courtyard and found herself descending a grand staircase to the outer grounds leading away from the palace and towards the city below. It was and wasn’t Halamshiral, Yael realized. It was Halamshiral before when it was a part of the Elvhen empires. The glass and crystal tipped spires winked at her in the sun and faded from view as she continued to walk. Behind her, she could hear confused voices calling to her in a language she should have been born knowing.

From her vantage point she could see the city of old, prosperous and golden before her. Pride swelled deep within her breast and for a moment the humming grew louder, a song she could barely make out. Clouds rolled in overhead and a discordant note scratched Yael’s ears, making her stomach cramp as if she had been struck.

Shaking her head she abandoned her view in order to keep moving. Yael descended into the city and as she walked she saw the finely cobbled streets crack and split wherever she set her foot down. The buildings turned to ruins as she passed them, shadows crawling from the the doorways and the windows, shadows with dim lights in the centers where eyes should be.

The music turned sharp and sour in Yael’s ear. Behind her the spires blackened and as the shadows clutched her arms and ankles the song was ripped away from her by the cry of a wolf.

Yael nearly fell from the bed, untangling herself from the sheets. She barely had enough time to find the bedpan before she retched into it. It felt as if someone had tried to poison her. She coughed, vomited, feeling her chest tighten as sweat poured off of her.

Thank the Creators no one was here to witness this. Yael spat up one final time and leaned back against the edge of a bedpost, chest heaving.  The dreams had never turned on her before.

No, she couldn’t reflect on the dream just yet. She had to ground herself in reality. She was lying on a richly carpeted floor, head tapping against the post of a far too elaborate bed. She was not in the past. This was Halamshiral as it was now.

Yael’s head spun as a thousand voices chattered in it. It was altogether too easy to want to give into their whispered words and get carried away in their tide, but she was still master of her own mind. Closing her eyes, Yael fought down another wave of nausea in an effort to quiet her mind.

She was awake.

In Halamshiral.

In the guest suite of the Winter Palace.

It was real. She was real. And she was tired of this constant mantra that had taken over the background of her life.

Yael passed a hand over her eyes and tentatively stood up on shaking legs. She staggered over to the drawers at the far corner of the room where a pitcher of water had been placed in a painted basin. Pouring the water into the basin she splashed it onto her face. She gasped at the cold, but was grateful for the clarity it brought.

Shaking off droplets of water, Yael padded her way back to the bed. She knew the minute she closed her eyes the voices would have her again. They’d take her back to the city, to the shadows. Defiance raged in the heart of her. She had chosen this, hadn’t she? She could endure it just as well. They whispered in her ear like a constant companion. They were trying to show her something, tell her something. What use was she if she did not comply? If she did not listen? So, Yael closed her eyes and let the tide sweep her out to sea.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

Returning to Skyhold was almost as satisfying as waking from bad dreams. Yael’s head was clearer when she was behind its walls. The voices seemed to like the old fortress, and as familiar as it had always been to Yael it was more so now. They whispered of the ancient times, of what this had once been, but when they spoke to her of Skyhold’s secrets it was with a reverence that made her feel more at peace with herself and her home.

They had barely been back a total of three hours and Yael was already refusing requests for debriefings. Leliana and Josephine were having none of it, but there were some things far more important than a rehashing of the dangers Yael already knew existed and the problems she already knew needed solving.

She climbed the winding staircase up to her chambers, opening the doors with a sigh that melted into a warm smile as she entered the room. “There you are, da’len.”

“She missed you,” a voice echoed around the room, soft as a wisp of candlelight.

Cole was never far from Elianwy. Yael picked up the squirming child from her cradle and jostled her in her arms. “How could she miss me?” Yael wiggled a finger in front of Elianwy’s eyes, feeling a catch in her chest at the gummy smile she gave her in response. “She’s had nothing but attention since the day she arrived.”

Elianwy gurgled as if to offer her own opinion on the matter. She was only a year old. The healers had guessed she was about two months when she was first brought to Skyhold so Yael would never be sure exactly how old she was. It didn’t matter. Yael ruffled the soft black hair on the top of her head, fingers tracing down to the small, pointed ears.

“It’s not the same kind. Crying. Shadows the dark. Lights and colors with no voices, voices with no color. Can’t...hear it. Waiting for green eyes, she makes the shadows smaller.”

“Cole…”

“She’s too young for me to help properly,” the spirit admitted, finally appearing in the center of the room, wringing his hands together. “But I like it when she smiles.”

Elianwy kicked her feet up and tried to put one in her mouth. Yael gently tugged the offending foot away from her seeking hands and gummy mouth. Gurgles and articulated vowels with no meaning followed.

“She likes it when you smile too,” Cole pointed out, “She just can’t tell you that yet.”

“Yes. Thank you, Cole.”

“Did I say something wrong?”

Yael took a measured sigh, “No. I’m sorry, my friend. It’s been a long way home.”

“Everyone feels it,” Cole said in what sounded like agreement. “Everyone rushing at the dark, looking for the knives hidden behind it. But they’re looking in the wrong place. It’s not behind the darkness, it’s through it.”

“What do you mean by that? Cole!” but the spirit disappeared, leaving only a wisp of gray smoke behind him. “Fenhedis.”

“Fen! Fen fen fen fen!”

Yael clamped a hand over Elianwy’s mouth. “Don’t you start with me, da’len. So help me if that’s the first word to come out of your mouth….”

Elianwy blew hot air over the palm of Yael’s hand when she removed it the baby began to giggle, bright amber eyes sparkling like a constellation. “You know the Keeper used to cuff me over the head when I swore around her,” she confided to her charge. Yael walked backwards until she was sitting on the edge of the bed. “Be lucky I’m a far more lenient Keeper to you. But don’t think I’ll tolerate any nonsense once you’re old enough.”

Yael rocked Elianwy in her arms as she and the baby both began to yawn. It had been a miracle the child had ever found her way to Skyhold. After the news that her clan had been massacred the last thing she had expected from the scouts returning was for them to present her with a two-month-old infant, the last remaining survivor of Clan Lavellan.

She didn’t even know who her parents were. Yael had been gone from home for so long by that point that she didn’t know who would have been with child. Yael had tried to go over those in her clan she knew were bonded, but when she had left the future parents may not have known themselves, or had not yet shared the news with the clan.

But as long as Yael was alive she was still Elianwy’s Keeper now. They were still a clan. Yael bundled the child close to her chest and rocked her back and forth, humming an old Dalish song just under her breath. She felt a third presence join them in the room, but Yael did not look up, merely continued to hum her song. One day she’d teach her the words. One day she’d teach Elianwy everything about her heritage and the family that had been taken from her, from them both. When she came of age Yael would give Elianwy her vallaslin, and she’d learn the rites and the lore. The ancient voices whispered soft and low. Together she’d learn more than many elves did in an age.

So lost in her own thoughts Yael nearly started from the bed when she felt a warm hand on her shoulder and lips press against her brow. She looked up to see Cullen joining her at her side.

“You might have made your presence known instead of startling me,” Yael grumbled, “I might have dropped Elianwy.”

“Fen!” Elianway squirmed, blinking and looking over at Cullen as well. “Fen! Fen!”

“Is this some new elven word you’ve been teaching her?” Cullen quirked an eyebrow at her.

Yael flushed a deep scarlet. “Ah, not exactly.”

Cullen plucked Elianwy from her arms, tossing her ever so slightly into the air and catching her. Elianwy shrieked with laughter, slapping her chubby little arms against Cullen’s hands until he repeated the action. Yael smiled, the two of them took to one another the way a cat took to cream.

On the third night of Elianwy’s arrival, Yael had exhausted herself trying to get her to sleep through the night. Cullen had gone over to the crib and hefted her out. He paced with her, walking the length and width of the bedchamber, bouncing her and singing softly. By the morning, they were inseparable. He would wear a cloth sling to carry Elainwy around with him while overseeing lighter tasks around Skyhold and there was a small basket in his offices specifically for her.

It had been close to year now since they had her and Yael was still not sure what to make of such a thing.

“I think her ears are getting bigger,” Cullen teased, tickling Elainwy and smiling broadly as she kicked and squirmed.

“They do that. I looked like a bat through most of my childhood. She’ll grow into them.”

She hated this; watching Cullen and Elianwy. No, no that wasn’t fair, she hated how much she didn’t hate this at all. Elianwy was an elf. She should be raised with her people. Yael had talked about it once or twice in the early days of Elianwy’s arrival. She had thought of delivering her to their allied clans in the Exalted Plains. With the war over the region had stabilized and it was the very heart of the Dales, a perfect place to grow up. Yet Yael had never sent word to the clans. Next month, she had said repeatedly, but still Elianwy remained.

Cullen balanced Elainwy on his lap. He had her on her back so that her head bumped up against his knee. She raised her hands up and brought her palms up to meet his own, so small against Cullen’s gloved hands.

“You shouldn’t let her lie like that, she’ll fall,” Yael felt the itch of annoyance scrap at the back of her skull. _Steady there_ , she tried to tell herself.

“Oh, she’s fine. We do this all the time, don’t we, sweetling?”

“She’s a child not a doll!”

The angered snap burst out of Yael’s mouth before she could reign herself in. Her jaw tightened as Cullen looked up at her, the soft light in his eyes narrowing into confusion. “Forgive me, I didn’t mean to shout.”

Shame worked its way through to nestle in a hot, tangled web under her ribs. Cullen picked up Elianwy, tucking her against him with one arm while using the other to reach for her. Yael felt his gloved fingers against her chin, raising her head to look at him. “It’s been a long day,” he said. “But don’t take it out on me, or Elianwy.”

He was right of course. Yael sighed and nodded, moving away from Cullen’s touch. The voices whispered to her. _A shem shouldn’t raise an elven child_ , they conferred amongst themselves. Yael realized with a shudder that they had been giving her that advice since Cullen first walked into the room.


	4. Chapter 4

“The question is less who would try and kill the Inquisitor and more...why?”

Josephine’s voice buzzed in Yael’s ears. Before them lay the scattered remains of the two would-be assassins. Celene had been kind enough to send over their uniforms and belongings, thankfully without the bodies still inside. Yael picked through the remnants, but all that was left wasn’t much to go on.

“They said I was cursed. A blighted creature,” Yael muttered as she examined a Gray Warden belt. “One of them said I led the Warden’s astray and would bring about another Blight.”

“So what precisely are we dealing with?” the ambassador scribbled a note on her parchment sheet, no doubt she was taking a thorough tally of everything. “Is it simply a few outlying extremist, or is this a credible threat?”

“Seeing as how they managed to sneak into the Winter Palace undetected and nearly slit my throat, I’d say the threat is credible enough.”

“But did they sneak into the palace? Or where they invited?”

Yael prayed to the Creators it was the former. The latter meant connections and connections meant intrigue and she did not want to spend the next few months untangling a web of conspiracies and destabilizing alliances that were fragile enough on their own without the Inquisition meddling and accusing nobles of sending assassins after her.

“I don’t believe they were invited,” Yael overturned one of the assassin’s jackets. The fine trim had a seam that was popped along the back. “Look at this,” she directed Josephine’s attention to the stitching. “What does this tell you?”

“A popped seam could mean a number of things, Inquisitor,” Josephine shrugged, but still she squinted and looked closer. “They may have cobbled together their own outfits for the occasion, or...ah, look another one, the seam along the side just under the arm. See how the hem isn’t even frayed? And the fashion isn’t precisely in season, but nor is it so old that one would mistake them for paupers.”

An idea formed in Yael’s mind. “Might they have ‘borrowed’ this outfit from another guest? The seams look as if they burst from trying to fit someone a little larger than the tunic was intended for.”

“It is a distinct possibility, Inquisitor.”

“So, no invitation then?”

“Perhaps. I will have to make inquiries regardless.”

“As gently as you can, Josephine. I just put Thedas back together. I don’t need a civil war breaking out on account of the Inquisition making false accusations against the most powerful families in Orlais.”

“Never fear, Inquisitor, they will never even know they are being interrogated.”

“You know, Josie, when you talk like that even I remember how terrifying you are.”

* * *

 

It had been weeks since they had convened to find the identity of the Wardens who had attacked her and Yael felt they were no closer to any answers. Josephine’s contacts with the Orlesian nobility had come up with nothing. That ruled out any chance that the assassins had arrived at the palace via invitation.

Yael and pulled her contacts with the Wardens who still worked with the Inquisition, but neither knew of any missing from the ranks. For all intents and purposes it appeared that the Wardens who had attacked her simply did not exist.

In the meantime security had become heightened all around Skyhold. The patrols had doubled and the scouting rotation had increased three-fold. Yael had given up on convincing Cullen that she was hardly about to be attacked in the Keep’s walls.

“You were attacked while surrounded by the Winter Palace’s walls,” he reminded her as they walked the battlements together.

“Yes, but that was in Orlais. I expect to be attacked the moment I step over the border into that blighted country.”

To her credit, she did manage to get the man to laugh at that. Yael smiled, dipping her head and brushing up against his fur-lined pauldrons. Annoyance scratched underneath her skin and she hoped to brush it off. The stress of this latest incursion on her authority was wearing away at her more than she had anticipated. The voices were louder, keener in sharing their thoughts on every little thing she did. They were beginning to understand their host. Yael did not appreciate their candor.

These walks with Cullen were an afternoon habit that they had started during the height of the Inquisition as a way to force themselves to take a necessary break from work. She looked forward to them every day. She loved the few quiet moments of time that were reserved for the two of them. She did not need an eternal chorus to drown out her one sacred moment of peace.

Cullen had his hand clasped in hers and Yael swung their arms in a false sense of ease. It was childish, innocent, and Yael felt a pressure bear down behind her eyes.

“You know we’ll find the culprits eventually,” she assured her ever worried Commander. With no more immediate wars he had relaxed into peace much in the same way a deepstalker relaxes into sunlight.

“I don’t doubt it.”

Yael stopped trying to fish for conversation after that. Their shared silences were always far more comfortable. She focused on the way his gloved fingers fit neatly against her bare ones, how his thumb traced a semi-circle up and down the ridge of her hand, how the permanent tremors seemed far lighter today.

“You know we never got to finish our conversation at the palace,” Cullen pointed out as they circled back around to his tower.

Yael hoped the sigh that left her wouldn’t be interpreted as one of derision. She was only sorry that their moment together was coming to an end. Yael probably wouldn’t see him until late into the evening, if then.

“Ah...we don’t have to finish it now if you don’t want to.”

Fenhedis, he did think she was trying to get rid of him.

“No, Cullen, please continue.”

The pressure behind her eyes mounted and she rubbed absentmindedly at her head.

_She loves him._

_He’s a shem._

_The enemy._

_They burned our land and stole our future._

Yael winced at the image that flashed before her eyes. It only lasted a second, but she felt the blood drain from her body. Human mages standing over a field of tall grasses, fire leaping from their fingertips and their staves. The grass became a raging inferno. Yael expected to see soldiers leaping up in a line of defense. Elven mages counteracting the fire with showers of ice. But all she heard were piercing screams echo in the dead corridors her mind had become. Then she saw the encampments of refugees and knew there would be no counterattack.

“Yael?”

Cullen was shaking her and Yael blinked up at him. Was she on the floor? Oh, so she was. How in the Creators’ names had that happened? She could see the beads of sweat on Cullen’s face, the worry lines deepening on his brow. “Did...did something happen?”

“You fainted,” Cullen gasped out in relief, a hand coming to rest upon her cheek. “You were fine one moment and then you went white as a sheet and pitched forward. Maker’s breath, I was about to bring you to the infirmary.”

Yael groaned as Cullen helped her onto her feet. “Thank Mythal you had the good sense to wait. Imagine the panic that would have caused given everything that’s happened.”

Cullen hovered at her side, an arm around her waist to steady her. Yael felt about as meek as a kitten suddenly. She wobbled on her legs and her arms felt as useful as water on a string. The push and pull of the blood in her veins was as exhausting a motion as the tide. What had happened? The image she had seen had lasted only a moment...she had thought.

“Yael, are the voices getting worse?”

Cullen never talked about the voices or what Yael had done at the Well of Sorrows. He acknowledged her decisions, stating that they were useful giving all that they had to face, but he would not speak further on the matter and Yael knew that somehow he had seen her choice as a betrayal. And why shouldn’t he have? She had absorbed an ancient power she did not know if she could fully control and she had pledged herself in service to one of the ancient and most sacred gods of her people. He could never understand the honor in that. The sacrifice and necessity. Still, he would see it only as a force of magic exerting far too tight a hold over her.

“As much as I am am learning of the world they once knew they are learning just as much about my own and they do not always like the changes.”

“Remember that you are in control.” Yael smiled as she heard her oft repeated advice spoken back to her. Cullen pressed a tender kiss to the corner of her lips. “And don’t scare me like that again.”

Annoyance filled up her core; her lips burning where Cullen had kissed her. Yael felt her head begin to pound. She loved when Cullen kissed her like that, simple and with no expectation of reciprocation. Now she felt an urge to wipe the kiss from her skin.

“This is the part where you swear to me you will keep yourself safe and you will, of course, never have me fear for your well-being ever again.”

“I will do my best,” Yael lowered her head to the crook of his neck. She was grateful when Cullen wrapped his arms about her. The steady rocking motion of his arms kept her on her feet.

The voices were still nattering about in her head as the annoyance in Yael’s breast compounded into disgust. When she tried to think outside of the voices bile raced up the back of her throat. She could hear them now as the pounding in her head receded as she concentrated. Yael wrapped her arms around Cullen tight, far tighter than she was used to.

_An elf cannot love a shem._

_Cannot_

_ You cannot love him. _


	5. Chapter 5

The voices were persistent. They followed Yael from the battlements, through the courtyard and up to the library. The more she fought them the stronger they seemed to become in her mind.

“There walks a woman with purpose,” a familiar voice that was distinctly not in her head drove Yael’s attention away from the argument brewing within her.

Dorian held three books in his hand that he was dedicatedly shelving. “Tell me, to what do I owe the pleasure of the Inquisitor’s company this afternoon?”

“I have a question that needs answering.”

“That’s never a good sign,” the Tevinter chuckled to himself as he fit the last book in his hands safely into its proper place. “This wouldn’t be in regards to our Warden troubles would it?”

Yael shook her head. “Something else entirely.”

“Well, go ahead and ask your question, that is why you keep me around isn’t it?”

Dorian frowned when Yael made no attempt to counter his witty retort. She could not summon the energy to spar with him today. “What books do we have on Arlathan? Or the ancient Elvhen Empire?”

She expected Dorian’s skepticism. The mage looked at her as if she had grown a second head, which at the moment Yael felt as if she had indeed. “Did I hear you right? You want books about the elves? Is this the same Yael Lavellan who declared that all books written about the elvhen by--what was it you said Shemlen imposters and charlatans?--to be tantamount to blasphemy?”

“This is no laughing matter.”

“Whoever said it was?”

Dorian was already scanning the shelves. Yael shifted from foot to foot, awkwardly waiting in a humiliated silence. For one moment she wished bitterly that she had been a better student as a child, back when she had the wisdom of her Keeper and clan elders to draw from. Now they were sitting in the ashes of her past as blank a spot to her memory as the old Dalish glories.

“Here we are,” Dorian’s voice cut through the sifting shadows of Yael’s thoughts. She was presented with a stack of three books. Dorian dropped them into her hands and Yael was unprepared for the sheer weight of the tomes. She wobbled on her feet, Dorian laughed quietly to himself and if Yael wasn’t so laden down she would have punched him in the jaw.

“There are more books on the history of the elves, naturally, but they’re trash. Pure speculation. Not that these are any different, they just happen to be the least speculative. So the experts say.”

Yael tried to get a better look at just what it was she was holding. The top book was a history of the Dales as recorded by Sister Silvinia. Chantry history. Unreliable at best, insulting at worst.

“I know that look, but don’t judge the book by its cover. The Chantry doesn’t get history right all the time, but would I give you a book to purposefully lead you astray?”

She sighed, “Of course not. Thank you, lethallin.”

“Yael, may I ask why you need books written by people you despise on a subject you yourself most likely have better knowledge of now than most of us ever will?” Dorian had a habit of making his personal questions sound like idle gossip. He had gone back to organizing the shelves, but Yael could see his eyes flicker over to her, testing her motivations.

“Light reading.”

“Does that line work on all your other loyal followers.”

“The ones that want to keep their heads.”

“Frightening as your reputation remains, my dear Inquisitor, you forget I’ve seen you drunk. No one could consider you terrifying in the least after that. Yael,” Dorian turned to face her, “are you alright?”

“Quite. I’ve defeated ancient magisters, sealed a breach in the Veil, become a disciple of Mythal, and lately escaped assassination. I’ve had a banner year.”

“Yael.”

“Oh, you and Cullen must conspire together. How many times can we ask Yael if she’s alright before she cracks and dissolves into a dithering mess,” her tone was harsher than she anticipated. The joke shattered on the stone floor, shards rolling towards Dorian’s feet as he cast his gaze down as if to see the mess she had made.

“I’m sorry,” Yael gasped, shifting the weight of the books in her arms. Creators, she had been apologizing at every opportunity of late. “I’m tired. That’s all. I’ve been saying…”

“You haven’t been yourself.”

Dorian’s words shackled her in place. The iron bite of them clawed at her ankles.

“Everyone has been thinking it, but no one has the guts to say it to your face. Except for me. You haven’t been yourself since the day you stepped into that Maker cursed temple in the Arbor Wilds. You went in my friend, my leader and you emerged...something else. And we’ve been waiting to see what this something else will be. She certainly looks like my friend, sounds like her too, Maker, she even remembers our jokes, but she isn’t Yael.”

When had it suddenly become so terribly difficult to breathe. If she took a single step, Yael knew she would collapse. “Whatever you believe--”

“I believe the real Yael Lavellan would know her limits. Stubborn as she was she knew when to seek help from her friends. You? You’re a machine. Gears. Wires and all. Why? Even the most rudimentary enchanter could see  someone else pulling your strings. The question is who...or what is doing the pulling?”

The books fell from unsteady hands. Dorian gave a disapproving gasp at the sight of the pages and spines bending at unnatural angles. Yael felt a tremor race up her spine. No, keep in control. She forced iron into her bones, pushed back against the pain of her headache, shut out the voices that whispered and whispered and _whispered_ ….

“I’m scared.” The voice that came out of Yael did not sound like her own. She did not like the woman who stood trembling in the middle of the library, voice shaking like a weathervane. “Dorian, I’m scared.”

The books were all forgotten in a moment and Yael was drawn into an embrace. The Tevinter mage brought her against him with one arm, practically crushing her to him. Her arms did not work as well as his, they clawed at his back, but could not embrace. Whispers in her head hissing at her that he was an enemy just as Cullen was an enemy and what was true and what was shadow was obscured by the fog of constant pain and words that she could not understand.

“Maker’s breath Yael, I knew that. I just wanted you to admit it.”

“They’re getting louder. Every day. I thought I was controlling it, that I was…” a breathless laugh left her, “I don’t know. I can’t think...I can’t…”

“Stop, stop,” Dorian ran a hand up and down her shoulder. “Let me do the thinking for you for a few minutes,” he tried to laugh, “Won’t that make for a nice change of pace?”

“Creators, Dorian, I hate you.”

“I know that too.”

“No...no you don’t understand. The voices. They remember. They remember Tevinter. I hate you for what they remember. And it’s getting harder to find my thoughts against theirs. What if...what if one day I can’t and I…?”

“Then the answer is simply to find a way to silence those voices in your head.” He made it sound simple. That was his great talent though, Yael smiled against his chest. “You’ve sealed the Fade after all. Silencing a few crusty old elves should be a summer’s walk in comparison.”

“Do you really think I’m not...me?”

The beat of silence spoke more than anything Dorian could say. Yael didn’t want to know. She still felt like herself. A more disgracefully frightened version of herself, perhaps tireder, more prone to anger, but it was still her. Wasn’t it?

“I believe you’re fading.”

Ah, honesty. One of the few things she could expect from him, Creators curse the mage. Yael pulled out of Dorian’s embrace, but the man caught her by the arm. His eyes were a fury of determination. She hadn’t seem him look at her so since the day they faced down Corypheus. “But I will be cast into the Void before I let you disappear from me entirely, my friend.”

“Then I had better set myself to work,” Yael nodded, bending low and gathering up the forgotten books. “Thank you, lethallin.”

“Yael?”

Always one final thing with Dorian. Sussing intention out of him was usually a fun game for the both of them, they both loved their coded riddles and half-truths.

“Who else knows how bad it truly is?”

“No one,” she said honestly. “I imagine there are few who suspect but...no one knows.”

“Shall we keep it that way?”

“Truthfully, lethallin, it is a relief to finally tell someone.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Brief depictions of intimate partner violence and severe mental instability. Please be safe.

The glass spires stretched out into oblivion and Yael knew if she followed them up through the clouds she’d pierce the Veil herself. Except this far up into the ether there was no Veil. She knew that instinctively though her every other sense told her there must be a Veil. A ripple of energy pulled her down and Yael felt the wind rush past her ear as the ground roared up to meet her.

Panic hit in the pit of her stomach, but she landed gracefully on her feet. Yael breathed and regained her focus through the haze of colors. This place was different than the palace courtyards she had grown used to exploring. The buildings of Arlathan were glorious to behold. Nothing her petty imaginings as a child had been prepared her for the sights of the ancient city.

But this was different.

Yael could sense its isolation from the empire, from even the Fade. Colors and energy tugged at the corners of the dream as if they were too big for the construction of this realm. She had to get her bearings.

She pushed past solid green and silvers as smooth as silk curtains until they became vines and spider webs, the overgrowth of neglected ages. From the vantage point of the air Yael had thought the temple to be at the height of its construction, but that had only been a trick of the Fade.

Here she saw it for what it was. A tomb of a dead people.

A gaping maw served as the temple’s only entrance. Pillars collapsed around it, glass work crumbling, the glamor of broken spells turning rainbowed crystal into marbled stone. Yael could see the staircase though she knew not how. It twisted in her mind down a spiral leading down into the heart of the earth.

Yael staggered back as a great black wolf emerged from the maw. The beast did not seem to notice her at first, its head swiveled from side to side, nose twitching in an effort to find a lost scent. She should back away. Even in dreams wolves were an evil omen. She moved and the great, black, beast turned its red eyes onto her.

Pain rocketed up her spine and rooted her in place. Yael gasped, screamed, fought to move her limbs. A demon of fear? Despair? She had never seen a demon take an animal form in the Fade.

The wolf grunted, whined and curled back its lips to bare its fangs. It reminded her of a trapped creature, but why should the beast be trapped when she was the one in pain?

It howled. The sound made her ears bleed.

Then it turned and padded back down into the darkness.

* * *

 

Yael woke to the sound of her own screams once again. A pair of arms around her middle held her in place, just like she had been held in place in the dream. Clawing panic drove deep into her chest and she writhed, striking out at whoever sought to bind her.

“Yael, it’s alright, it’s me. It’s only me!”

Her mind worked it out much slower than the rest of her body. She hit him twice more before she collapsed on her side, sweat staining her nightclothes and the sheets beneath her. “Cullen,” she tested his name on her weak lips. Her fists uncurled into shaking hands and she rolled over to face him. “Cullen.” He was breathing hard as well, and Yael thanked the Creators it was still too dark to make out his expression.

“It was a nightmare, that’s all,” he hushed. He was getting good at that, his confidence almost sounded convincing to Yael’s ears. “You’re safe.” The tremor at the final syllable did not hold water. She could hear the tears, and in many ways that was worse than being able to see them.

Yael pressed the palm of her hand against Cullen’s chest. His heart pounded like a war drum. It soothed her more than his words could. There would only be a few seconds left of the silence in her head before the whispers returned. She closed her eyes and let his heart be the only sound she heard.

_1…_

She breathed in time, slowing her breath as his heart slowed.

_2…_

Cullen caught her hand in his, bringing it to his lips and kissing the tips of her fingers in earnest.

_3…._

“You’re safe.”

Yael opened her eyes as the rolling tide of voices swept through her mind once again. The urge to rip away from Cullen’s side burned so strongly it almost hurt, but she held tight to her control.

It was Cullen who moved away first. He returned almost as quickly, urging her to sit up. Yael did so, feeling her body as unreal as a beam of light, translucent to its very core. Cullen brought a cup of water to her lips and made her drink, holding her head steady and wiping away the droplets from her mouth. The shame of having him tend to her as if she was a day old kitten burned hotter than the hatred in her head.

He set the cup down on the wooden drawers at the bedside and remained facing away from her. Yael inched her arm out, her fingers skirting the ridge of his spine. He was warm and she wanted to remember what that used to feel like. Before the voices, before the memories that were and were not her own and the bitter burning in her soul that poisoned every waking moment she possessed. Cullen used to feel like light, like home. She remembered that. She remembered quiet chess games in the garden and their ridiculous inside jokes. The voices and the memories made the shame of those feelings twist into a knife until her hand fell from Cullen’s back to lie upon the bedsheets.

“What did you see this time?”

The question sounded rather like an accusation, but if it was aimed at her, Yael could not be sure. The urge to lie came to mind so quickly Yael knew it could not have been her own initiative. It took an immense amount of effort to work her jaw and tongue and speak words the guests within in her mind urged her to keep hidden.

“I was standing before a great temple.” Pain was the only way the voices could express displeasure, but Yael was already in so much heavy pain what was one ounce more? “I could...see past the Veil. The temple was old. Older than anything we’ve come across before. I don’t know how I knew I could...sense it. And out of the Temple came a great-- _augh!_ ” She arched up off the bed briefly as her nerves flared. She fought against the momentary agony only to feel the flash fire in her veins again.

Cullen hovered over her, Yael could see the shadows of his hands as he deliberated on how to tend to her. The pain vanished as soon as she shut her mouth. “Creators,” she whispered “this is not what I wanted.” Cullen stretched himself out alongside her, draping an arm about her waist.

“I should have gone into the temple with you. I should never have let you go on ahead without me.”

“Oh? And what would you have done differently if you had gone?”

“I don’t know. I could have...persuaded you or--”

“I made this choice. I knew the price.”

“And that price is _killing_ you.”

What should I have done? Let some shem mage take the last remaining piece of history from my people?”

“Yes!” Cullen slammed his hand down against the mattress. “Maker take you, you should have let someone else shoulder that burden. You should have let Morrigan drink from the Well. Your history is not worth your life; worth your sanity.”

“There is nothing I would not do for my people, ma’vhenan.”

She had to make him understand, if he did maybe then the voices would not speak so loudly over him. Maybe the poison that had taken root against him would be purged and they could continue on as they had before. Yael saw the strain in Cullen’s movements, the tremor in his hands when he did not reach to touch her.

“I do not care about your people. I care about you and your life.”

The words fissured in the air like a misfired spell. Cullen sagged forward against the pillows knowing immediately he had said the wrong thing. Yael heard screaming, spitting rage in the back of her head and for once she did not fight it. A shem would never understand.

Fitful crying from the corner of the room tore Yael away from the hateful words about to spill outward. Their shouting had woken Elianwy. The urge to go to her became primal. Yael struggled to sit up, rolling forward and pulling at her sore limbs. Cullen tried to gently ease her back down. “No, no,” an apology brushing the edges of his words as he hushed her. “Let me see to her, love. You rest.”

“Why? So you can show me just how little you care about my people, shem?” Yael recoiled from Cullen’s touch.

“That...I hadn’t meant to say it so…”

Elainwy’s crying did not cease and Cullen looked away from Yael towards the cradle. Yael could feel the tension within him at each spiking cry. He kissed her brow and moved off the bed. Something made her follow. Yael grappled for his arm as she staggered to her feet. “She is not your child!” There was an echo in the back of her mind as she spoke as one with the voices in her head and oh, blessed be, the pain fell away, all of it. The heaviness, the shock of it, it melted from her bones. “She is _not_. _your_. _child_!”

It did not take much effort for Cullen pull free of Yael’s hold. “She is,” he said softly, almost mournfully. “She’s been my child since the day she first came to Skyhold. You may refuse to acknowledge her as your daughter, but I never have. Elianwy is as much mine as she is yours.”

“You think I’d let a shem raise a child of my clan?”

A thousand Keepers voices seemed to ring out in her head and Yael felt powerful, almost righteous.

“Stop this. You’re tired. You’re sick, love. This isn’t you.”

Wasn’t it though? Yael could no longer feel herself shaking. It felt good to move in tandem with the voices. The last time she had felt so in sync with the guardians of her past was when she had faced down Corypheus. Her mind felt clearer; focused. She could see past Cullen to the danger he posed as a shem, as a Templar. He held her back from her purpose, divided her when she should be singular in her desires. And he was still determined to reach Elianwy.

“I said _get away from her!_ ”

Her magic ricocheted out of her like the sparked match it always was. Flames and force rushed through her and over her, she directed the energy at the shem in front of her. The fire lit up the room just enough for her to see the shock on Cullen’s face. Too late she remembered she loved him. Yael drew herself inward to shut off her magic pulling up the cords of the Fade.

“Creators!” She fell backwards onto the floor, hands smoking, hair standing on end, pain lashing at her body once again for her defiance. “Cullen?”

She had let her control slip. For only a moment in her exhaustion she had glimpsed herself from outside of her being. “C-c-cullen?” Yael drew a small halo of light to the palm of her hand and raised it up, a prayer to all the gods scattering across her trembling lips. Elianwy was still crying, screaming with more intensity than ever, but Yael couldn’t help her charge now.

The light glowed brighter, feeding off its maker’s panic. A chill settled in the center of Yael’s heart. “Oh, Cullen, _ma'vhenan!_ ”

The shem lay huddled in the center of the room, clutching at his right arm. Even in the dim glow of the wisp-light Yael could see the terrible burns snaking up past his shoulder. Pride hit her first for scoring her target followed by the violent need to be ill. Yael tried to breathe, tried to think through the cries of the child and the thousands of voices scrambling in her head. Which one was hers? Was she pleased with her work? She would find the voice that was and rip it from her body. Or was she a traitor to her people? To herself? Was it shame that enveloped her instead for her sympathies for a Templar shem? Why could she not remember? Why couldn’t she be certain?

Yael crawled forward on her knees towards Cullen. “I didn’t mean…” but had she?

He looked at her the way he often did just before coming out of a nightmare. Except this time the demons in his eyes never shifted. Betrayal lined his face. A thin whimpered breath escaped from between clenched teeth as he tried to draw himself up and away from her. Yael backed away immediately, kicking out with her legs and skittering back and back until she collided with the bed posts. The wisp-light flickered out as she she buried her face in her hands.

“It’s alright.”

Cullen’s voice was whisper-thin with pain and at first Yael thought he was speaking to her, then she realized at the quieting of Elianwy’s cries that he was comforting the child. “Don’t be scared, love, I’m here. Everything is alright.”

Yael crawled for the door, fumbling for the handle. She had to get out. Oh Creators, she had to get out. Yael could hear Cullen hush Elianwy, humming gently under his breath to mask the pain in his voice and she could feel it like a knife at the base of her spine. With the door open she ran. She knew not where. Down the stairs and into the great hall she ran like a skittish hart. The whole of her body convulsed. Why could she still hear Cullen hushing the child?

_You must go._

_Something waits to the West._

_We know the way._

_Let us take you._

The images of her dreams crowded her thoughts as Yael skidded into walls and doors, feeling each bruise form like the wash of an absolving rain. She closed her eyes. Yes. She could feel herself think. Take me. Take me from here. Show me what you would have of me.

When Yael opened her eyes she stopped resisting.


	7. Chapter 7

Yael saw Cullen’s face whenever she closed her eyes. The look of betrayal mixed with pain felt as sharp as ever. Yael couldn’t tell if she was torturing herself by remembering or if the in that remembering she preserved a small piece of herself. Most days she hated him now.

But there were other things to think on. Navigating down the Frostbacks had been enough of a foci for her anger. It was as if she was cast back, adrift in the snowstorm after the massacre at Haven. It had been a different Yael who had run pell-mell into danger, facing down Corypheus with all the exuberance and defiance of a hotheaded apprentice warrior. The Yael that trudged out of the snow was not the same. Just as the Yael who stepped into the Well had been one version, just a piece in a larger pool, and the Yael who stepped out were two identical beings.

There were paths through the mountains only she knew about, treacherous and nigh suicidal to some, but Yael found that to be a matter of opinion. If one did not fear death then one need not pay the pressures of it any mind. And Yael was past petty fears like death. She hiked recklessly down iced over ledges and snow-covered crevasses. Sleep wasn’t the necessity it once was; there were many things she was learning about the power she had been granted. Once she gave herself over to the voices they showed her so much more than she ever imagined.

Days had passed--four by Yael’s reckoning--and she was safely out of the shadow of the mountains and the shackles of Skyhold. Now for the hard part, figuring out where it was she was bound for.

Go into the West.

Yes, very helpful advice from the all-knowing ancients.

But if west she was bound, then west she would go. The glass spires of the city and the gaping maw of the temple flashed in her mind. There was something waiting for her out there in the ruins of her people’s kingdom. Letting the voices in had opened her eyes. They spoke as true teachers now, no longer mired down by rage and impatience. A sense of clarity washed over Yael as she packed up her meager camp.

The Yael that had first left her clan in the Free Marches had been a conceited creature, full of pride for her people and her history and eager to extract some manner of revenge on those who had caused their downfall. When had she forgotten that young elf? When had she lost her sense of vengeance?

Yael touched her vallaslin, the blood red tattoos that covered half her face marked her as one of Elgar’nan’s faithful. When had she forgotten her oaths? The voices chided in much the tone Yael recalled her Keeper once using on her when she was newly coming to her magic. Comforted by the familiar chastisement, a wild energy filled Yael’s being as she marched in the direction her guardians laid out.

The foothills had given way to the bare outskirts of the emerald forests. At this rate she’d make it to the Emerald Graves in two day’s time. From there it would be another day’s journey down into the Exalted Plains. If she avoided the main roads, and kept herself out of sight from the Inquisition’s forces. Funny how she had become a fugitive to her own people, but she could not risk being intercepted now, could not risk falling back into shemlen hands.

She wondered briefly how the Inquisition was holding up without her. Voices told her not to dwell on such matters that should never have been her burden in the first place. She was no Inquisitor, no puppet of the Chantry’s making. She was First to her clan, and now with no more clan left she was Keeper. And it was a Keeper’s job to remember.

Still images of a frantic Josephine and a furious Cassandra kept springing to mind. Vivienne would regard all this news with a sniff of disdain as she no doubt remarked to anyone listening that she had known it was a matter of time before Yael abandoned them to their own devices. Varric would think it a mark against her regard for him, the dwarf took everything personally even when he claimed the opposite. Dorian would be in a fine temper, he’d be panicking as quietly as he could and it was for him she was most sorry. He’d know why she had to leave. He’d only be angry there was nothing he could have done to prevent it. The soldiers probably had to restrain Iron Bull from breaking down the gates and taking the Chargers out to look for her himself. Sera might even believe she’d come back when she was good and ready, as poorly as the two of them got along they were still sisters-in-arms. Poor Cole would be frantic, listening for her, looking for her. She had best be careful. The spirit could sense distress from miles away. And Cullen would--

Cullen would do best to forget her.

And she would do best to forget him.

“Can’t. Sound of his laughter when I cheat at chess. Feel of his arms when I fall onto the bed in the middle of the night. _I missed you_ , he says and the words are too small to say back. An elf cannot love a shem, but he is more than broken promises of exile. He feels like home. How do you forget home?”

Yael dropped her pack and whirled her staff high overhead before slamming into the ground, an electric shockwave rippling through the air. Leaves fell from the trees on either side of the road. The crisp, metallic tang of lightning crackled against Yael’s teeth.

“Blast it, Cole, how many times did I tell you to keep quiet?”

“She knows we’re here now, Dorian, no point in feigning.”

Yael fired off a static shock against the trunk of an old oak tree on her left. “Out,” she snapped, “Out the lot of you.”

Fury bottled up Yael’s throat as she watched Dorian and Iron Bull emerge from hiding. How she had gone this long without detecting sooner she’d never know, though she suspected they had some aid from Cole--who was currently skirting beyond the edge of visibility, but Yael could feel the spirit’s presence all around her.

“Easy, boss,” Bull raised his massive arms as if she could be placated by a gesture!

“How long have you been tracking me?”

“We picked up your trail down the mountain two days ago.”

“And you thought you would follow along and see where it led.” There was no masking the bitterness in her voice. Yael sidestepped around the pair, keeping her staff level and the threads of the Fade at the ready.

“Honestly, Yael, did you expect less?” Dorian interjected, the distress in his voice gave Yael momentary pause, but she let it roll off her like water. “You disappear in the middle of the night only weeks after a threat on your life is made and you simply anticipated we’d go about our lives. Yes, they’d all say, who knows where our Inquisitor is, I’m sure she’s looking after herself just fine on her own.”

“Well here I am alive and well. Now turn around and head back to Skyhold.” Yael sheathed her staff, slinging her pack onto her shoulders again.

“Not a chance, boss,” Bull shook his head. “If you’ve got a need to be away from Skyhold then we do too.”

“Are you Inquisitor here or am I?”

“I’d say you gave up the right to pull rank the minute you abandoned your station without a word.”

Yael stared Dorian down. The Tevinter mage was not intimidated in the least. He crossed his arms and practically dared her to scream at him, or lob a fireball straight at his head. His eyes told a distinctively different story. The worry lines and bags just underneath spoke of how little he had slept over the past few days, the downward pull at the edge of his lips practically shouted his disappointment in her.

And he had every right to be disappointed didn’t he? Yael sighed, rubbing at her head. The clarity she had so briefly experienced was sliding out from under her.

“So many voices, so many. They all want to be heard, they demand it. Sleeping for ages in the water they’ve waited, oh they’ve waited so long to speak again. They don’t care what any other voices have to say. You can’t find the thread of your voice anymore. I told you. I told you.”

Cole appeared, crouching, right at Yael’s feet. He rose, and even for his youth he still stood a head taller than her. “You want to know if you’re still you. You are always yourself, but now you are...more...and it is not always what you want. There is a song playing over yours, reaching for the dark, reaching past it, you can’t hear it, but I can. And I can see the threads, all of them weaving and stitching you shut.” The spirit pressed a hand to the side of Yael’s head. His touch was as cold as the last breeze in autumn. She could feel the raw energy of the Fade pulsating through. “But I can still find you.”

A beam of light graced Yael’s skin, blinding her only temporarily. White, iced over heat flooded her body as she felt herself pulled in two directions. Cole was as bright as a beacon, waiting with patience as her eyes refocused.

“The...voices…?”

“Yours will be the loudest one for now. I can help. I can make them quiet. For a time.”

“I knew bringing the kid was a good idea.”

Yael looked over at Bull and Dorian, heart twisting at the sight of her companions. “You should still go back,” she insisted.

“Not a chance,” Bull laughed.

“I’m not even certain of where I’m going or...why. There is...there is something that I must do,” that much was still clear.

“Then allow us to help you.”

“Ar tu na’din. All three of you. I swear.”

“Is that a yes?” Dorian grinned, but when he fell into step alongside Yael he braced a hand against her shoulder. She glanced over at him to give her answer but felt herself clapped rather brutally on the back by Iron Bull. Breathless she coughed and swung her gaze up at him. Cole glided effortlessly in front of them all, and Yael could still feel the beacon of light he had made of himself to guide her forward.

She felt unworthy of their loyalty. A sickening lurch in the heart of her had returned along with her sense of self. They would have seen her handiwork back at Skyhold, they would know the reason she had slunk away like a criminal in the dark. Yet they remained. They had followed.

“I couldn’t convince you if I tried…”

* * *

 

“We stay off the main road and we make our own camps.” Yael was not about to take any risks. The last thing she needed was more Inquisition forces reporting on her whereabouts. She had let Dorian send a raven back to Skyhold at the last inn they had found on the highway. Josephine and the others would know she was alive and that she no longer traveled entirely alone. More than that she would not let Dorian reveal.

Yael had only gone back to the Emerald Graves once since drinking from the Well. It had been bad enough when she had first come to this place. The beauty of the forest--the jeweled leaves the wood took its name from, the golden rays of the sun reflecting off the rushing streams, and the silent ivy-covered stations--it was barely enough to cover up the horror underneath.

How many times had she bragged to her clanmates that for every grave said to be marked here she’d kill a dozen shemlens in their place? The idle threats of the young. Still, Yael held onto the image of her younger self igniting sparks from her fingertips while she balanced on the top of an aravel, laughing and swearing oaths to Elgar’nan himself. The brazen image kept the thunder of the voices at bay.

“I remember when we first came here,” Iron Bull mused, adjusting the great axe he carried strapped across his shoulders. For all his height and girth he never made Yael feel small at his side. The former qunari spy did not look down at her as they walked, his eyes remained on the road, occasionally drifting to the broken statues that dotted the highways in the glen.

“You, hah, you were a sight to behold,” he went on. “First foray into the Graves and you shot the head off a statue of Andraste in that clearing right over there,” he clicked his tongue and mimicked the sound of an explosion as he pointed off towards the distance. Even from here Yael could still see the headless statue.

“It was a commemoration from the Chantry of their victory,” Yael grumbled. “A hollow one. As my people remain.”

“And I thought to myself then, watching you standing over the shrapnel of Andraste laughing your head off, that the humans had no idea what they were in for in making you her Herald.”

“I am not the Herald of Andraste!”

Would she forever be telling the people that? The shemlen could take their beloved Bride and burn her a second time for all she cared. Savior of the people? Liberator of the enslaved? Yael could have laughed herself sick. She knew an opportunist when she heard one and Andraste seemed no different than any other shem preacher. She had used the elves to prop up her own purpose and as soon as they were no longer useful her followers put them to the torch as easily as the magisters fed Andraste to the pyre. No, there was nothing in Yael’s heart for Andraste but a need for vengeance.

“Shout a little louder, why don’t you?” Dorian hissed back at Yael and Bull from his vantage point on a hillside a few paces away. “And here I thought we were trying to pass through unnoticed.”

Yael bit the inside of her lip, smouldering quietly as she walked, smoke curling at the ends of her hair as the ground melted and blackened with every step she took. “I am not the Herald,” she emphasised again. If her Keeper could see her now she would smack her face for such petulant behavior.

“You have to be the Herald of something, Yael. Maybe that’s what the voices in your head are trying to show you.”

Iron Bull simply shrugged and walked on, catching Dorian up and startling the mage with a clap to his back and kiss to his cheek. Bull was always doing that, pulling advice out of the air and laying her flat with the accuracy of it. Yael floundered in her mind as she walked, ignoring the light bickering of Dorian and Bull and the gentle echoing of Cole hovering somewhere nearby, just out of sight.

She looked up at the statues. Further into the Graves the remnants of the Chantry symbols and Andraste gave way to spiraling trees over the entombed bodies of legendary elven warriors and statues of Andruil, Sylaise, and…

The statue of Mythal stood on a podium of granite, rising up above her fellow gods in the nearby clearing. Yael could feel her faceless, sightless gaze upon her, the heat of the goddess’ spirit reaching into the heart of her.

Anger rose up to meet awe.

Yael had seen the true face of Mythal.

A human’s face.

Yael curled her lips back into an animal’s snarl. The witch that called herself Flemeth had claimed to be the same goddess she and her people had prayed to times beyond counting. She had never anticipated that one day her prayers would be answered in the shape of a human. The voices cautioned obedience, warned her that there was more beyond what she was letting herself see. Lies. If the God of Justice had hidden in the body of a human for centuries while her people suffered injustice after injustice than what use for gods were there in the world?

Fire blossomed in the palm of Yael’s hand and with an almost uncaring flick of her wrist she sent the fireball careening into the statue, taking the head of Mythal off in a wild explosion.

Dorian and Iron Bull turned to look back at her and the smoking relic. “I couldn’t resist,” Yael dusted her hands down her coat. “For old time’s sake.”


	8. Chapter 8

Her dreams were spilling over into the waking world now. Yael no longer tried to keep them at bay. She let the voices show her the gravesites of her kin as they had been when freshly dug. She watched the twisted trees spiral upwards in defiance of the massacre inflicted upon the souls buried underneath. And all the while--scratching into the pulse of her heartbeat--was the indescribable urge to press on.

Yael felt like one of those mabari hounds her Fereldan soldiers often went on about; she had the scent, she could feel the trail. Where it led she couldn’t see, she only knew that they were heading in the right direction.

“You’re doing it again.”

Yael blinked over at Dorian. “Doing what?”

“Muttering to yourself.”

“Oh.”

“In Elvhen.”

Had she been? Truly? Yael had known she could read and understand more of her own language than ever before, but she had never heard herself speak it. In her mind the words had sounded as common a tongue as ever. A thrill leapt through her. If she could speak her own language then maybe she could teach other Dalish clans as well. Maybe they could have that much restored to them.

“Hallo the Inquisition!”

The shout took Yael and her companions by surprise. Yael and Dorian reach for their staves in time with one another. Cole appeared, crouching low behind the trunk of a tree just as a man appeared over the rising crest of the hill on the left side of the road. He waved in wide arcs that made Yael think of a spiraling, graceless bird. She lowered her hand from her staff as the man made his way down the precarious hillside. The man was hardly a threat.

“Hello!” he said again. Now that he was closer Yael could see that he was a bright-eyed human lad. He wore somewhat scuffed leather armor and bore the look of a boy newly learning the ways of combat--what with the bruises on his cheek and the red, raw marks on his knuckles. He was panting as he skidded to a halt a few paces away from Yael and Dorian. “Sorry to startle you. I was scouting from a few yards away. We haven’t seen any Inquisition activity in the region for a while and--”

“Stand at attention!” Yael snapped, getting the boy to jump to right quick. “State your name and rank.”

The boy had the good sense to salute, although Yael could tell immediately that from his posture he was no soldier. Not yet at any rate. “Matthias Garmon at your service, Inquisitor. I, uh, I’m not certain I have a rank to speak of. I just came to pass along a message from Fairbanks up at Argon’s Lodge.”

“You recognize me do you?”

“Begging your Worship’s pardon, but it would be impossible not to.”

Yael felt a smile tug unwilling upwards at her lips. Dorian gave a snickering laugh and waved the boy away. “At ease, lad, she’s only giving you a hard time because she can.”

The boy didn’t lower his salute, eyes flickering over from Dorian to Yael and back again. Yael couldn’t help, but laugh as well. “Go on and do as he says, he’s not wrong.” The boy would make a fine soldier one day if he chose the life. “You did well in bringing me word. Please, escort us to Fairbanks. It has been a long time since last we spoke.”

Matthias bowed, grinning, “It’s just up this ways if you’ll be so good as to follow, your Worship!” He was off like a loosed arrow from a bow, back up the ridge.

Shaking her head Yael signaled for the others to follow up the cresting hill.

“Not to contradict the great and terrible Inquisitor, but I thought that the name of the game was stay out of sight and out of mind?” Dorian spoke low, but the boy was past hearing either of them, far too focused on the important task of leading the Inquisitor and her trusted companions back to the lodge.

“Out of sight of Inquisition forces, but Fairbanks is not Inquisition. Besides, if he sent out scouts to monitor our movements he did so for a reason. He’s always given us good information before. He wouldn’t send an escort for no reason.”

Dorian scoffed, “If that green boy is Fairbanks’ idea of an escort he has a very peculiar sense of humor.”

Yael could only urge her friend to put her trust in her, a phrase that sounded hollow given everything that had occurred. It struck her suddenly, how very normal this all felt: wandering out into the Emerald Graves, meeting with Fairbanks, questioning the motivations of their forces’ allies. Had they merely found a Rift that had moved them backwards in time? Was the War still ongoing? Would Yael later retire to her tent back at one of the Inquisition camps and look through letters sent from Skyhold? The longing for those days caught her by surprise at the rising and falling of her heart. She shook it off as they crested the hill overlooking the connecting cottages commonly referred by the freemen in the area as Argon’s Lodge.

Matthias led them down and over one of the many wooden bridges connecting the lodge. The former refugees had made quite a good life for themselves out here. The former abandoned ramshackle buildings had been lately refurbished, a few even painted over. Merchants had stalls in the central square and Yael could see families walking, speaking with friends, going about their lives. She smiled, it was good to see a displaced people finding a home. The voices tittered in her head, shemlen should not be on such sacred ground. But even their annoyance was damp and held little malice. It seemed even the ancients were pleased to see some semblance of life amongst the dead no matter the race.

“My friends!” Fairbanks crossed over to them from the busy square. Yael had not seen where he had appeared from, but she took his hand and shook it all the same. “It is good to see you again, Inquisitor.”

“You as well, Fairbanks. We received your message here,” she nodded towards Matthias.

“Ah, excellent. Thank you, Matthias, you’ve done well.” The boy beamed, unable to control his excitement at the praise. He bowed and saluted once more before dashing off to fulfill another task no doubt. “Come inside,” he led Yael and the others into one of the larger buildings at the end of the square.

Judging from the many maps of the region pinned to the walls and the tables complete with missives and unfinished letters, this was the central headquarters of Fairbanks’ operation.

“Last I checked the civil war had ended, Fairbanks,” Yael pushed aside a few notes and parchment pieces with an idle finger.

“Wars end, but the Game continues. It is never truly peacetime for the ordinary citizens of Orlais. We receive more families by the day, peasants and merchants looking for an escape from the machinations of the nobility,” Fairbanks chuckled, “Honestly I do not know how we will house them all here. We are considering expanding our reach. Homes and farms even, where the forest allows, where we might live as free men. Ah,” he nodded respectfully at Yael, “and of course we would never seek to defile the graves of your ancestors, Inquisitor.”

Yael knew there had been a reason she had placed her trust in this man once before.

“Your devotion towards your people does you credit as it always has, send word to my contacts here in the Graves and the will see your message back to Skyhold. If you have a need of supplies or funds, you have only to ask.”

“A generous offer, your Worship.”

“But you said you had information for me?” Yael would have preferred to speak more on what Fairbanks envisioned for his people. Somehow the simple conversation had cooled the lingering rage that had been simmering under her skin since she had torn the head off the statue of Mythal. Ordinary solutions to ordinary problems. Why didn’t she deal with such things more often?

“Indeed,” Fairbanks gestured for Yael and her companions to take their places around one of the tables. Cole sat upon the edge of the table rather than pull up a chair. Bull and Dorian remained standing at Yael’s side.

Fairbanks cleared away some of the cluttered papers, rummaging for something specific. Yael heard the muted note of triumph in his voice as he plucked an item obscured by the parchment to show to her. Yael frowned, examining the object in Fairbanks’ hand. The metal of the Grey Warden insignia glinted in the dim light fracturing in from the wooden beams above. In Fairbanks’ other hand he held a torn piece of blue fabric, unmistakably sewn in the pattern of a Warden’s uniform.

Yael took the insignia in her hand, turning it over and over, letting Dorian and Bull get a better look as well.

“They passed by here a little over a week ago, heading west by our scouts reckonings,” Fairbanks remarked. “When we then spotted you and your companions a few days ago we thought you ought to know, given everything that has happened of late.”

“My thanks,” Yael muttered only half listening. So Fairbanks knew of the assassination attempt as well? Josephine must have sent missives out to all the Inquisition’s agents. Yael knew that was only sound strategy--to have as many eyes and ears searching for clues pertaining to the Wardens’ intentions, and yet Yael rather wished to keep the matter as close as possible. No point in dwelling now. “Tell me, how many Wardens did you see?”

He shrugged, “No more than four.”

“Anything unusual about them?”

“Unusual?” Fairbanks seemed taken aback by the question, but if he had any questions of his own he kept them to himself. “No. They looked uninterested in the region, just passing through. Perhaps a scouting party, or stragglers from a larger group? My men say they were heading towards the Plains.”

The Exalted Plains? It was further north than she had meant to go, when the voices had urged her to keep towards the west. But at this new information the voices conferred with one another. The Warden assassins in Orlais could very well have been the remnants of Corypheus’ hold and that was that. But why would Wardens be out in the Graves in the first place? There had been no reports of any darkspawn activity in the region. No reason for them to be so far from any Warden outpost.

“What are you thinking, boss?” Iron Bull asked the question as if he already knew the answer.

Yael pocketed the insignia. She and the voices had come to an agreement, and such a rare moment of cohesion was not to be ignored. “I’m thinking we make for the Exalted Plains and see exactly what these Wardens were looking for.”


	9. Chapter 9

_The Dirthavaren was a promise. A promise broken on the backs of our people. The graves extend far past the emeralds. Here their spirits cry for justice. You can feel it with every breath; the strain upon the Veil. They call for you. With every step you walk on the bones of your people._

_They call for you._

_For you._

_Yael._

The scream bottled up in her throat, coming out as more of a dry croak, and Yael felt her lungs burst as she sucked in rattling breath after breath. It was as if she had been held underwater, she could still feel the current rushing past overhead. But she was no longer caught up in the tide, she was awake again. She was in camp.

Yael let herself fall back against the hard ground, pulling upwards on the blanket covering her. The stars were bright out here on the flatlands of the Exalted Plains. She connected the constellations as her body shivered in the cool night breeze. From here she could recognize most of the stars.

When she had been little she would often sleep outside with only  furs and a blanket as protection from the elements. In the Free Marches, though, it was a good deal warmer. In the summer it was almost impossible to sleep in the aravels and the whole clan would sleep around a gentle fire. Yael always slept nearest to their Keeper. When she had been newly sent to the Lavellan clan from her own she had only been seven years of age. Deshanna had let Yael sleep in her aravel the first few nights. The Keeper had set aside a few blankets and the first night she had slept as a member of her new clan Deshanna had set aside her nervous fears and told her a story of the Dalish warriors of the Dirthavaren. When Yael awoke she had forgotten her fears.

Yael raised a finger, squinting one eye shut as she began to draw the constellations in the air. She could almost hear her Keeper instructing her. _The stars are a map, da’len. If you learn to read it they will show you the way, and by their light you will always find your way home._

Another image filtered into her mind uninvited. She thought of Skyhold and nights spent staring through a broken ceiling at the midnight sky above. Instead of tracing the patterns towards home her fingers had been interested in a different map entirely. Cullen had laughed as she made lines connecting the freckles on his skin, asking her what she was doing and Yael answering with quiet smiles that it was an old lesson her Keeper had taught her.

Her hand fell back down to earth as if cut from a string. Her clan was dead and buried. Home was burned and ransacked, and the stars were only indifferent lights in the sky as distant and silent as the Creators. Yael rubbed at her eyes. And while her clan had been attacked she had been safely in Skyhold in the arms of a shem, the shame of which would never leave her. The voices would make sure of that.

Yael’s cheeks burned in something akin to tears. She punched the ground, feeling small, sharp stones puncture the skin on the back of her hand. She held it there, grinding it into the soil until the tightness in her chest left and the burning under her eyes faded.

A scrabbling sound out past the camp made her sit up. She could hear it. Something moving in the dark. Yael nearly reached for her magic before she saw a nug dart out from under some bushes and squeak away. Sighing, Yael flopped forward. What was she expecting an ambush of some kind? No one even knew they were out here.

She had better get some sleep while she was still able. Yael pulled up the blanket, letting it cover her completely and block out the starlight.

* * *

 

“Do we even know how we’re going to track down these Wardens?” Dorian asked.

Yael was about to answer when Cole burst in between them. “I can help! I can feel them moving through. They’re scared of what they don’t understand. Like shouting in my head. How can you not hear it?” He pointed down the path leading towards the Riel.

“Well, I suppose that answers that.”

For all her splitting headache, Yael couldn’t help but laugh at Dorian’s nonplussed reaction. “The better question,” Iron Bull supplied, “Is what do we intend to do with these Wardens once we find them? I’m guessing bashing their heads in isn’t the answer?”

“Ideally I’d prefer to ask if they know about the attack at Halamshiral before we bash their heads in.”

“Can I punch one of them for mere association?”

“If the opportunity arises, they’re all yours.”

There was not much conversation between the three of them after that. The normalcy of their banter back in the Emerald Graves had given way to a barren silence. Yael wondered if their talks with her before had only been kept up as a pretence for her sake. They claimed to be here as her friends, but Yael wondered if in addition to their loyalty there was fear in the mix. They knew about the voices, but none of them truly understood the consequences of the compulsion she was under. They understood it simply as her pledging her services to one of her gods, an act of symbolic servitude, even her closest companions would never truly comprehend what she had done.

What Yael would not give to have Solas at her side right now. He had been the only other elf to understand her hatred of being used as a Chantry symbol, of being taken from her elven kin and held apart from them. And in many ways he had reminded her of her Keeper, wise in ways she could not fathom. They had had their differences; his opinions on the Dalish had often angered her to violence, but they had the same dreams of Arlathan, the same shared hope for their people. She missed him. She should not, he had abandoned her rather than let her help him and for the life of her she could not understand why. Then again, she supposed she had just done the same thing in leaving Skyhold on her own.

Regardless he was gone and there was no one she could turn to ask about Mythal or the voices she commanded.

Yael raised her head as an idea struck her. Solas was not the only elder she could turn to. She thought of the Dalish who resided here in the Dirth. Hawen was a wise Keeper and a shrewd man, Yael had appreciated his initial reservations upon trusting her at their first meeting during the wars. He had not wanted the influence of the Chantry upon his clan and as painful as it had been to be associated with a shemlen enemy, Yael could not fault him. And since then they had corresponded in letters and messages passed between her agents in the region. He may have some knowledge, some artifact or ancient script that she might avail herself of to understand.

The voices did not seem best pleased with this new scheme of hers. They stressed the urgency of their mission, the need to push past the Plains and into the Western Approach and far beyond where her vision grew patchy and hazy with the mix of ancient images and sights unseen by her own eyes. No, Yael pushed back, head aching. No, she had a right to understanding of her past and of this magic that had a hold of her. They would speak to the Keeper and that was the final word on the matter.

“Hold!”

Iron Bull’s warning came a fraction of a second too late for Yael as she nearly collided into him. He grabbed her and pulled her close to the canyon walls “What is it?”

“Darkspawn ahead.”

For a moment she thought she heard him wrong. “Darkspawn?” She looked out past the boulder they were hiding behind. Sure enough a mob of the monsters were hulking their way down the canyon trail out towards the open plains. She looked over at Dorian, Cole, and Bull, they questioning looks in their eyes all seemed to ask one another the same thing. What were they doing out here? Would it be wise to engage them here under cover of the canyon or wait until they emerge on the plains? Could they handle them with the numbers they possessed?

Yael made the decision for them by pulling her staff from the sling across her back. She nodded at her companions who drew their weapons without a word. Peering back over the rocks Yael made her mental calculations. Engaging them under the cover of the canyon made it less likely that other darkspawn would be waiting for them on the plains to serve as reinforcements. However there could be archers on the higher ledges of the canyon, unlikely due to how rambling the mob seemed to be. They did not look to the walls, or look up in anticipation of receiving a signal or a sign. They appeared to be on their own.

There were six of them and the odds were in their favor, but between Yael and Dorian’s magic it should be enough to balance the scales. Yael signaled at Cole first and the rogue spirit disappeared, Yael and Dorian emerged from their rocky alcove first, fanning out wide to leave room for their attacks while avoiding detection.

As soon as they were in position Iron Bull let out a battle cry and charged from their hiding spot. The darkspawn mob whirled around at the sound, screeching indignantly and drawing their weapons. As Bull passed Yael and Dorian, Yael drew her magic to her, feeling the heat coalesce within her to form a wall of flame that she sent spiraling out between her and Bull.

Bull knew Yael’s attacks almost as well as she knew his. He dropped low and stopped his charge a fraction of a second before the wall of flames leapt up from the ground. The darkspawn weren’t so lucky, one hurlock fell directly into the fire, burning to ash in seconds with a piercing cry. The other five were singed, but unharmed.

That was when Cole reappeared from behind the confused mob to strike like a wyvern at its prey, tearing into one of them before it could even see what had attacked it.

Yael felt her headache recede in the way only a well executed plan could do. She even laughed as she fired blast of flame from her hands at the creatures. Where she burned the monsters, Dorian froze them in place for Iron Bull to take down. The blissful sequence of fire and ice was interrupted only by the howling cry of another beast further up the path.

“Maker have mercy that’s torn it!” Dorian swore.

A monster of a hurlock came roaring down to meet them, hefting a giant warhammer in both of its hands. It moved faster than Yael would have imagined a beast of its girth could. Iron Bull disengaged from the genlock he had been battling to face the greater opponent. The hammer came down with such force Yael almost believed Bull would not be able to dodge out of the way in time. It shook the ground where it hit, but Bull swung out with his own axe before the beast could prepare for another attack.

He struck blood and it fountained in sizzling, black pools out of the hurlock’s chest. Far from being slowed down by this, the monster seemed to go into a frenzy.

Dorian sent out a barrier to shield Bull and ran over to fight at his side. Cole lunged for one of the smaller genlocks, his daggers piercing its spine and sending him toppling to the ground.

They could still win this.

Yael sprang back as another remaining genlock closed in on her. Sniffing with a disdainful tilt of her head, Yael sent a fireball careening into the beast, it smouldered upon its armor but not much more. Time to change tactics. Yael sent a shuddering blast of force at the beast and she could feel the genlock’s armor crack down the middle. She smirked, whirling her staff overhead to send a bolt of lightening shivering through the sundered armor. Yael laughed as the genlock was blasted back, dead with a smoking hole punched through its chest.

She was still laughing to herself when she turned to see another darkspawn behind her with its sword already raised. The hilt of the blade knocked her between the shoulder blades. Lights burst in her brain as she staggered back, knocking aside a glancing blow with her staff.

Thinking quickly she drew inward on her mana and slashed upwards with her astral blade. The yellow spirit sword cut the creature neatly in two. Hissing at the dead remains, Yael let the sword dissipate before taking her staff in hand again. She ran to catch up with the others, who were the beating the giant hurlock back.

“Where were you?” Bull roared, blocking a blow from the hammer with his axe.

“The bastards decided to ambush me.”

“Hope you gave ‘em a good talking to.”

“I was very persuasive.”

He laughed and Yael set herself up to cast another wall of flame just as she saw movement at the corner of her eye. It was the shield she recognized first, emblazoned with the sigil of the Inquisition. The sword was a double-edged broadsword, but wielded with all keen precision. It struck out at the kinks in the hurlock’s armor, cutting the tendons of the monster at the heel. The hurlock toppled to the ground giving Iron Bull the perfect striking position. It only took one swing of his axe to lop the head of the monster clean off its shoulders. It rolled forward to land at Dorian’s feet.

“The next time you get me a gift, Bull, make it a book at the very least,” the Tevinter mage swept the head away from him with the end of this staff as the remaining body of the darkspawn collapsed in a nerveless heap on the ground, its steaming, black blood cooling on the ground around them.

The joke fell on deaf ears. Yael stared at the man who had come to their very timely aid. The headache returned with a powerful vengeance and Yael felt her self rooted numbly to the spot.

“You came to help, you always come to help,” Cole muttered happily.

Both Bull and Dorian swore nearly simultaneously as they finally noticed their newest companion. Yael felt a rush of anger and confusion as they stared at one another, battleworn and panting.

“Cullen?”


	10. Chapter 10

He couldn’t be here. He _shouldn’t_ be here. Yet there he stood, breathing hard, sweat-slick hair curling up in the back. Wondrously and miraculously before Yael, defying all explanation.

Cullen sheathed his sword and swung his shield so that it rested on his shoulders. He looked over at them, nodding a greeting that looked almost sheepish now that he was exposed to them. “I apologize if I startled you.” Why was he apologizing? Of course he would think to apologize for saving their lives. “I saw the darkspawn and couldn’t let you take them on alone.”

“How long have you been following us?”

The question left Yael’s mouth like an accusation and she snapped her jaw shut as the grating sound left her. Her gut twisted. She wanted to throw her staff down and pull him towards her in an embrace, check him over for injuries, smooth out those stubborn curls and breathe in his presence.

Cullen’s gaze was level as he spoke to her, but there was something unreadable in his hazel eyes. And that hurt. He was always an open book to her, even back well before they began their relationship, she could always tell what it was he meant to say or what he was truly thinking. Now he was hiding from her. Now the chaos in her own head left no room for her to pick up on his hidden meanings.

“I had been tracking you since you came down the Frostbacks,” he rubbed the back of his neck as he confessed. “I assure you I hadn’t realized you were already being followed,” he looked over at Dorian, Cole, and Iron Bull. “But it was hard to turn back once I started so...here I am.”

“Is all of Skyhold behind you? Perhaps you are all following one after the other?” Yael rubbed at the bridge of her nose before heaving a sigh, “Go home, Cullen.”

“That would be rather impractical now, I fear.”

“Cullen, you’re the Commander of the Inquisition. We cannot both be gone from Skyhold together.”

The voices urged her to get rid of him. To push him to go back and get away. He would serve only as a distraction to her mission. What mission? She hissed inwardly demanding an answer from the Void itself would be easier. She barely knew where she was heading she only knew she had to obey, she had to go. But Cullen couldn’t be here. Why in the Creator’s names would he come after everything she had done to him?

“Cassandra is more than capable of looking out for the Inquisition in our absence.” Damn him, she could not argue with that.

“And what of Elianwy?”

“I am surprised to hear you care at all for what Elianwy will do while you are gone.”

Yael’s eyes widened as she took the blow from his words into her heart. The very mention of her youngest clanmate was enough to drive the breath from her body. Cullen had never spoken to her in such a way before, full of hurt malice, barbed and primed to strike. She did deserve it. She deserved his hateful words and his spite, but the tone was so unlike him, so unlike the gentle man she knew he was. And she had done this to him. She had put the weapons into his words, the sharpness and the sting.

Cullen looked astonished with himself for what he had said. He blinked, his gaze lowering, his voice growing sullen. “I am sorry, that was unworthy of me.”

“Perhaps we should...move out?”

Dorian’s awkward cough broke whatever spell was around them both. Yael had quite forgotten her friends were still all standing around her, Cullen, and the darkspawn corpses. Yael nodded. “Yes, we should.”

Cullen fell into step alongside the others and Yael winced at the sight. He would not go back, but she must have known that already. They walked out of the canyon and onto the grasslands. The fields felt strangely bereft of life even though Yael had read reports that families were moving back into the area. The wind blew through the tall stalks of grass in silence, wild and alone.

In the light Yael could see just how haggard Cullen truly looked. The dark circles under his eyes looked swollen and bruised, his face was pale, only slightly colored by the recent skirmish. She could not see how his arm was underneath his armor, but the burn had happened only a few days ago, even with a healer’s treatment it would still be swathed in bandages and paining him. She could tell in the way he kept adjusting his shield over his shoulder. Yael almost forgot herself and asked him to give her the shield to carry if it was too much. Creators, she could not afford to feel such distractions now!

“Why do you think there would be darkspawn roaming out here so far from the Western Approach?”

Yael was surprised to hear Cullen speak to her she blinked and fumbled for words. “I am not sure. We haven’t received any reports on exacerbated darkspawn activity in the Plains have we?”

“If so it’s none that I’ve seen.”

“Do you think they were following something?” Cullen asked, his voice was casual as if he was debriefing one of this lieutenants.

“Perhaps the same Wardens we are now in pursuit of?”

“Is that what brought you out here? I had wondered…” Of course he wouldn’t have known their purpose. Yael bit her lip, wanting to explain that she had not merely left Skyhold to go off in search of the Wardens, but the voices made it impossible to speak.

“Yes, we heard there was a scouting party nearby. We had hoped to speak to them. See what they knew of the assassins at Halamshiral.”

Yael did not miss the wince that hit Cullen at the mention of Halamshiral. It had only been a few weeks ago that they had been laughing and teasing one another on the balcony of the Winter Palace, back before the voices had overtaken her. “Cullen, you should not have come.”

“Did you abandon me when I was at my lowest?” He kept his voice soft to avoid attention, but his gaze was intense. “When I confessed to you all my past actions and regrets did you leave me? How then, could I have done the same to you?”

Yael wanted to cover her face and sink to the floor. She wanted to disappear from sight and memory and let the earth swallow her up. “Ma’vhenan, there is more at stake here than simply--”

“I know it. I can see it. That does not mean I will leave you to fight this battle alone.”

She reached out her hand for his, just an inch that was all. Her fingers brushed up against his own, but he jerked away. Yael dropped her hand and her gaze to the ground. He would not let her touch him. That understanding brought with it a unique pain all of its own. “I’m sorry,” she heard him say.

“No…” it was suddenly very difficult to breathe. “No I am. For all of it.”

* * *

 

The darkspawn had left their mark in the burned and blackened fields. A solemnity enveloped them all as they walked through the upper plains. Yael could identify what had just been so recently freshly tilled soil and farmland; finally she knew why the Plains had been so barren and devoid of life.

“We should have known of these sooner,” Cullen said, bitterness heavy in his voice as he overturned a broken door with his foot. The remains of the farmhouse littered all around them. “Our forces should have been here. Should have prevented this.”

“We can send a bird back to Skyhold. Get troops on the ground to keep watch for returning darkspawn,” Yael did not find that truly helpful. What good would it do to the families already destroyed? It seemed like such a waste, after all that fighting during the War, these people were finally able to put their lives back together…

_Do not mourn for them._

_They build their homes on the bodies of our people and you would call this justice?_

_Let them burn._

“But we cannot do anything for the dead. Let’s move out.”

“There could still be survivors!” Cullen interjected. “We should delay our march to search the surrounding area near the river.”

“We’d lose the light in half that time,” Yael argued, burning rising in the back of her throat, “And we cannot afford any needless delays.”

“Needless?! Listen to yourself! If we can save even one survivor it will have been worth it.”

Yes, he was right. What had happened here was an abomination, the people were not the human warriors of old who had put the Dalish to the sword. They were farmers, simple men and women unconcerned with stories and injustices of old.

_He cares for his own kind._

_We know what truly happened here._

_You waste your pity on dead shemlen over the graves of your own!_

Yael raised a hand to her head, feeling the push and pull of the tide of voices, paralyzed at what answer was hers and what was not. Her knuckles had gone white as she gripped her staff hard. She noticed, vaguely, that Dorian had a hand upon her shoulder. She could see him mouthing something to her and realized that he was speaking aloud but she could not hear over the cacophony in her own head. She looked from him to Cullen, who was still staring at her with rage behind his eyes, but she could see it dim to frantic worry. His hands were half outstretched as he took a step closer to her, but clearly he thought better of it. He could not help her. Yael could have laughed at herself and her own weakness. Of course all she should want now was for the cure to all this noise to be found in his arms.

_LEAVE HER ALONE!_

A voice, louder than the others, louder than even her own, rang out strong and clear in her head, like a blast of icy wind scattering embers from a wildfire. Yael shuddered as it gusted through her, turning to see Cole at her side, his fingers pressed against her temples.

_You cannot bind her. You cannot unmake her. You will listen! You will listen to her!_

The spirit released her and Yael gasped for breath, floundering backwards and holding her head, her staff digging into the ground for support.

“Did it work?” Cole spoke aloud for all to hear this time. And she could hear him! “Did it help?”

“Y-yes,” Yael coughed, her voice scratchy, as if she hadn’t spoken in years. “Yes, Cole. Thank you,” she drew in a breath, “I’m fine now.” She did not miss the looks exchanged by Dorian and Iron Bull. “Truly.”

“Well you may be fine, but you don’t look it. I say we set camp early and decide all this in the morning,” Dorian suggested.

“No, no that won’t be necessary,” Yael could feel her strength returning by the second. “We need to look for survivors,” she could feel the scrabbling in her head, but whatever Cole had done had dampened it. She no longer felt the vicious anger in the core of her guiding her in a different direction. “I don’t know why I said otherwise. Cullen? Why don’t you lead the way since you already have a plan?”

“Yael, perhaps we should listen to Dorian…” she could hear what he did not say. She could practically feel him screaming at her. _Never scare me like that again._

“I said I was fine and I meant it. Please, the both of you, there are lives potentially at stake.”

They stopped trying to convince her to rest, but Yael let Dorian support her as they walked to the riverbanks. His grip was a sturdy one and Yael was quietly gratefully he knew better than to walk away from her.

How many times could Cole come and make the voices obey her? And how often would such intervention work? True, Cole was a spirit and a powerful one, but that power had limits and this magic was beyond the work of spirits and demons. Yael sagged forward against her friend. This was supposed to have been a gift. A window into the past, not a seat of torment. She was supposed to learn and remember and serve her gods, not be the victim of their ancient whims. She felt their anger, she shared it. And she would serve her people well, could they not understand that? But the world was bigger than once they knew it, there was more to fill in the spaces that they must come to see. The hard beat against her skull felt like a rejection of her own thoughts and Yael suddenly felt like a naive fool.

They investigated the river, sticking the road along the banks looking for any potential survivors or stragglers who had wandered this far up the paths.

“Hey!” Iron Bull waved them down, “Come and see this!”

Dorian and Yael hobbled over together. Lying upon the bank was a body recently left by the look of it. The blue of his uniform was stained with blood both human and darkspawn but there was no mistaken the patterns of blue and gray and white.

“A Warden?” Cullen asked. He bent low to examine the corpse. “Could not have been here more than a day. But where are his comrades? Surely they wouldn’t just...leave the man.” That was her Commander, concerned over every soldier whether or not they were his own. Yael felt a wave of affection sweep over her and with the quieting of the voices it was almost soothing to know she was still capable of such things.

“They were chasing them,” Cole said, standing further down the path, staring ahead.

“Chasing who?”

“The darkspawn.”

“Can you tell where?” Yael asked.

Cole raised his arm. “They went looking for fresh blood, but they follow the song. They could hear it calling them. There.”

Yael felt a sickness well up in her as she pushed Dorian off of her, looking at the tracks in the dirt, seeing as they led scattering over the path following the line of the river. “Oh Creators, Creators no...no…” she could not stifle the prayers as they left her lips. If the Darkspawn were heading in that direction it would take them directly into the heart of the Dalish camp.


	11. Chapter 11

Yael could hear them shouting her name behind her. Could feel them running after her, but she didn’t turn, she didn’t look back, she kept going, feet flying over the rocks and the road beneath her, leaping over fallen trees and skirting over boulders, ducking low to run through tight passages between small canyons, and sprinting along the wider paths. She could hear them, Dorian, Bull, and Cullen calling out for her to slow down, to stop. Dorian was swearing at her in every language she knew, and Cullen shouted her name in something mirroring rage and a lover’s worry.

Cole kept up with her. He appeared in flashes at her side and sometimes ahead. He knew better than to shout. He only followed for which Yael was grateful. She skidded to a halt as she rounded a tight corner, from the rise she could see past the riverbank to the Dalish campgrounds.

Smoke rose over the line of trees and rocky hills, black and thick with death. Yael could smell the embers on the wind and knew the answer before she could think to ask the question. It was enough for the others to catch up with her, she could hear their panting breaths as they came to a stop at her side.

“Maker preserve us.”

“Curse your Maker,” Yael spat. “Curse him and his Bride!”

She ran, past feeling the numbness in her legs or the strain in her lungs. She ran into the fullness of denial. Maybe there would be survivors. Her people were clever and quick, they would have avoided the brunt of any attack. Perhaps the darkspawn had only burnt the supplies and the aravels in frustration at a lack of prey. Yes, yes that was it. That was the only thing that made sense.

Yael screamed as she entered the camp, staff at the ready, a thousand spells and curses in her hands. She released a startling burst of energy when she saw that there were no more darkspawn left to wreak her vengeance upon. She fell forward onto her knees, staff falling to the ground.

There was nothing left of the camp. The aravels had all been put to the torch and she could see the tatters of the colored flags wave feebly in the breeze, strips of cloth still coming away in the ash. The ground had been desecrated, she could see bodies lying blackened by fire, crafts and valuables covered in soot and broken. Even a halla lay dead on the ashen ground, it’s white fur matted with blood, sightless eyes staring terrified into the clear sky.

Cole walked through the wreckage without leaving a mark, his head bowed, his fingers fumbling at each other. “It was over quickly, many of them felt no pain.”

Yael knew he could hear the voices of the dead, could hear their final terrified moments, but for her sake he told her what she needed to know. It did not help, but she held her tongue.

“Inquisitor?”

Yael sprang to her feet at the hacking sound of her title upon the lips of a man who should not be living. Pushing past the smouldering remains of an aravel, Yael caught sight of Keeper Hawen. He was staggering as he walked over to her, blood and soot covering him nearly entirely. His hand was pressed just under his ribs where Yael could see blood dripping.

“Keeper!” He collapsed at her approach and Yael caught him, easing him down. Her hand pressed up against his own, feeling for the wound. It was a wide gash, deep and piercing through the ribs. “I’m sorry,” she felt like a child again. “Keeper I’m sorry, I should have been here sooner. I should have...I should have known.”

“And how could you have known, da’len?” Hawen asked, looking up at her with bleary eyes. “This...this is not your fault.”

“We’ll...we’ll soon have you fixed up,” a gurgling laugh bubbled up her throat as she looked up over at her companions. “Dorian and I...together we can...you’ll be fine.” She had to save one, Creators let her just save one.

“Inquisitor look around you. My clan is gone,” he patted her hand gently like her own Keeper often did when she got an answer in one of her lessons wrong, encouraging her to try again, to think harder. “Let me go to my rest with them.”

“My clan is gone too,” she said, strained, her voice foreign in her own ears. “We could be a clan. Please, Keeper, let me help…” she tried to summon a spark of healing magic; a white light flickered between her fingers but sputtered and died. She never had the skill for it. Never could get it to work. She bit her lip so hard she tasted blood.

“Da’len, da’len, it’s enough now,” weakly he raised his hand to her face, tilting her towards the light, a blood finger traced the outline of her vallaslin. “It is enough to know you will see justice done.”

Yael nodded vigorously, clawing back the knot of tears at the base of her chest. “Then I go at peace,” Hawen said, a small smile on his lips. “You know...looking at you now...I wonder how I did not see it before….”

“What, Keeper?”

“It is like looking at the face of Mythal herself.”

Hawen fell back, his hand leaving her cheek to rest limply against her chest. Yael felt the blood in her veins burn, evaporating into a rising steam, hot and clouding in the roof of her mouth. “Keeper?!”

She let him go, rising to her feet, backing away with a shake of her head. No. No. This must have been what her own clan looked like after the shemlen nobles had finished with them. This is how it must have looked centuries ago when the humans marched their troops through these lands and desecrated their homes and slaughtered her kin. The smoke and the stench made her gag as the voices in her head rose up in unison.

“They fled into the graves,” Cole kept repeating. “Even the dead do not rest when the darkspawn rise.”

She knew what he must mean. The darkspawn had moved on to Var Bellanaris, the ancient burial grounds of the Dalish.

“Yael…”

She turned on her comrades, wreathing herself in a shield of flames so bright they were forced back. A scream built up in the back of her throat that built and reverberating in her head in tune with the voices. It sounded like the cry of a dragon in her ears. “I will put them down,” she said in the one of the many.

Hawen had said looking at her had been like looking into the face of Mythal, but she was the goddess of Justice. The vallaslin on Yael’s face was that of Elgar’nan. The fire rose up in her as she picked up her staff and walked the path towards her peoples’ graves. Grief burned to ash in her mouth and she could feel fear for the first time from her friends. Good, there was a satisfaction to their fear. She was no force of justice. She was vengeance.

* * *

 

Fire bloomed in her wake as she walked the path from the ruins of the Dalish camp to the ruins of Var Bellanaris. Time slowed for Yael as she moved, her body had become translucent with the flames licking up and down her arms and legs. A halo of light spun about her head as the fire warped her vision. There was no need to run. No need to scream. The darkspawn would be trapped in the ruins. They would have no where to go.

She could feel her companions following her. Feel their trepidation and concern, but she was far beyond herself. She was and was not Yael Lavellan. She was herself and more, a thousand times and a thousand years more.

Iron Bull’s advice still rang clear in her head, like a bell of prophecy.

_You have to be the Herald of something, Yael._

Yes, she did. She was. It was a wonder she had not seen it before, but she wouldn’t have. It was before she had the knowledge of the Well, before she had the voices of her people singing to her in her head, showing her the way, lighting her path. She was no Herald, she was a Harbinger. A Harbinger of Vengeance.

She walked into the grotto, calm, remarkably calm. The fires of her anger burned around her and the voices of the ancients propped her up. Yael could see them. The darkspawn, rooting through the desecrated graves of her kin, snarling and skirmishing with a group of Wardens that seemed insignificant to her now.

She spoke, she could hear herself say words in an ancient language she didn’t understand. The voice was not her own, magnified to a level that caused the darkspawn to shrink and recoil in surprise. And she could hear prayers on the lips of the living. Prayers to a false god that meant nothing to her.

They would burn. They all would. She raised her hand with the mere flick of her wrist three of the darkspawn fell with flames all around them. The Wardens kept their swords drawn as they backed away. Yael swept out with her other arm and caught an ambushing wave of the darkspawn by surprise, they fell as their comrades had, shrieking and burning into nothingness.

_I am the fire of the Elvhen._

The voice was her own in her head and on her tongue in her own language.

_I am Vengeance bound to Justice._

_You will burn._

The remaining darkspawn died where they stood. She could feel their lives snuff out like the wicks of candles crumbling into ash until the only things that remained were the Wardens. Yael could have laughed. They raised their swords and shields as if that would save them. Shemlens were truly a pathetic creature.

Vaguely she became aware that she had need of these Wardens, but the reminder felt like something out of the distant past, gone again like a dream in the light of day. She raised her hand again.

Someone screamed; behind her just out of sight, they spoke her name. Yael was startled to see someone place themselves between her and the Wardens. He looked familiar through the flames. He spoke, but she could not hear him. If he wanted so much to die with his shemlen brethren she was happy to oblige him.

Memory came careening into her brain, interrupting the spell building at her fingertips. She knew the man. Yael knew the man. Yael as she had been, as she was? No, she must concentrate. The voices kept her magic up far longer than she could have done it alone. The death of the darkspawn was not enough to satisfy her justice. The tainted shemlen would burn as well, and once she had the blessing of Elgar’nan and her forgotten kin she would have power beyond measure, the power to restore Arlathan and the whole of the Elvhen. That was what she wanted? That was what she had dreamed for her people since childhood?

_Yael._

The name was insistent out of the mouth of the defiant shem before her. The tone was pleading, familiar.

_Yael._

She knew him. She knew that name, knew how it sounded on his lips when he woke from darkened dreams in the middle of the night, knew how bright it could be when he said it with a laugh and kiss to her cheek. She knew him.

Fire built in the palm of her hand, curling like a budding flower. If he wanted to die with his kin so be it, she convinced herself. If he wanted to die she would grant him what he wanted! He was a shem. What did it matter? A shem!

The voices in her head shrieked in fury as the fire dissipated around Yael. Whatever force had been controlling her magic was severed. Cut from her strings, Yael fell to the ground, shaking uncontrollably. Her vision blurred as she looked up at Cullen, who was staring at her as if she had just become a demon. Oh Creators, had she hurt him again? She couldn’t, she couldn’t bear it if she had. She pitched forward, vision fading to black as her strength left her. Creators please, she couldn’t have….

 


	12. Chapter 12

Yael could hear voices above her, but they did not sound like the ones she kept in her head. She could not make out their words and when she tried to open her eyes they grew to leaden weights and stayed shut. She tried to move, tried to make some sort of sound so they would know she was listening, that she was still alive, but the energy required for such a thing seemed impossible.

The voices faded into the darkness.

Images of a deserted battleground rose up in their place. Yael walked amongst the dead, treading lightly over the burnt and ashen fields. The sky was gray and in place of cooling rain embers fell, burning her skin where they hit, yet she continued walking. Before her she could see the bright armor of the shemlen soldiers, pikes and masts aloft with the flag of the Chantry raised high. She could hear them praying and see a Sister standing before them, cupping their bowed heads and singing to Andraste and the Maker, giving thanks for their lives and their victory.

Yael turned her head slowly away from the scene as shadows moved in the fields behind her. They appeared dim and faded in the ember rains. She saw them pack up aravels and pull them through the ashen mud, heads bowed. It was then she noticed the bodies littering the ground, piled high, one after the other, rotted and pitted with eyeless skulls and flaking skin. All of them elven, all of them her people. Their crying rose above the chanting until she screamed, holding her head and screaming for an answer.

The crying faded as the dead disappeared along with the shadows and the soldiers. Yael remained alone, kneeling in a muddy field, devoid of anything but the wind and the soothing scratch of the tall grasses. She was alone, blissfully alone. Exhaustion crept upon her limbs and tied them down. She let herself lie in the grass, hidden from view. It was quiet for once, Yael couldn’t remember the last time it had ever been so quiet. Her eyes closed in the gloaming and her fingers curled around the stalks. She just need to rest here for a while, that was all, rest here until her head stopped hurting, until the voices stopped asking things of her, until she was back in her aravel with her Keeper when the world was smaller and made sense.

She felt arms around her though she knew there was no one near. Still, she felt them pull her tight, sturdy and sure. Someone stroked her hair, tucking a few strands behind her ears to caress her face and all was peaceful for those few moments. All was well.

Until Yael woke with a pounding headache and bitterness on her tongue. Pain did not return to her senses so much as a brittle reality. Her body did not feel quite her own and her sight was darkened. Sounds came and went until a steadiness returned to her. She was aware she was lying down, rather comfortably on a pallet of blankets. She blinked, letting her vision warp and tunnel before settling in on the scope things.

It was well past evening, but still early in the night judging from the dimness of the stars above and the freshness of the campfire. Campfire? How long had she been out? Memory was hard to come by, the last she had was of holding Keeper Hawen as his life ebbed away from him. Anger came before the thundering of her grief and she shuddered.

They were camped a fair distance from the clan, but Yael could still see the familiar path leading back to Hawen’s clan. She would need to bury them. Someone had to say the rites, someone had to plant the trees over their graves to ensure the new life. She tried to rise, knowing it would be an impossible task.

To her surprise she felt that the furs that had been draped over her were not blankets at all. Her fingers clutched and curled around the familiar cloak. A whimper left her body with a wince of shame as she sat up despite the protests from her heavy limbs. She brought the cloak towards her chest, hugging it tight, her face buried in the fur lining.

“You should be resting.”

Yael jumped, looking up and seeing Cullen coming to kneel at her side. Embarrassed, she dropped the cloak on her lap, smoothing it out. “I think I’ve rested quite enough.”

“There is no rush. We’ve made camp for the night, you have until morning to get your strength back.”

“What...what have I done?” There was fear sitting at the apex of her chest. Perhaps she did not truly want to know. “Cullen? Have I hurt anyone? I can’t...the last thing I remember was finding Hawen’s clan…”

“You didn’t hurt anyone,” Cullen assured her and she believed him. “Aside from some darkspawn, but I’m sure you’ll be forgiven.”

Creators, was that a joke? How could be joking at a time like this? The sad half-smile on his face faded out almost as soon as it bloomed. “Do you truly not remember anything?”

“Flashes here and there, but nothing.”

“Maker,” he breathed out, pained. “Maker, Yael what is happening to you?”

“I…” the despair in his voice caught her off guard. “I don’t know.”

She gasped when she felt Cullen’s hand against her shoulder. “Ma’vhenan?” He pulled her into an embrace, practically crushing her against his chest. Yael couldn’t move, couldn’t will herself to bring her arms up and around him. She lay in complete stillness as Cullen held her to him. How could he bear to hold her after what she had done?

“Tell me what I can do?” he asked.

“Oh Cullen, please stop,” she tried to wriggle free from his grasp. “You don’t have to do this.”

“Dorian tried to explain, tried to tell me that you knew how bad things were getting. Maker, Yael, why couldn’t you have told me sooner? Why couldn’t you have let me help you?”

“Because whatever is in me...whatever I am becoming, it will not let you help me,” she must have exhausted so much of her energy that even the voices were silent now. They would have forced her into silence for such an admission. It felt good to say aloud. It felt good to look at Cullen and not feel the glamour of hate blinding her eyes. She could feel his arms around her, warm as they always were when there was nothing in her head but her own thoughts.

“I can see you fighting it. I saw you fight against it in the grotto. You could have killed us all, but you remembered. You pulled back.”

“I haven’t always,” she reminded him with a bitter laugh. “I hurt you. That cannot be forgiven.”

“But it can be healed,” Cullen held her hand in his, pressing it up against his shoulder. She could feel the bandages there beneath his tunic and for a moment Yael thought she would be ill.

“You have too much faith in me,” she let her hand fall away. “And it almost killed you once.”

“I have every faith, my love,” it was the first time he had called her that since they reunited. She loathed his endearments, but now they sent a spasm of joy through her heart. “You are the strongest person I have ever met. I will not--we will not--let this curse take hold of you.”

“I am not certain that this is a battle you can win, ma’vhenan,” but it was so like him to rise to that challenge. She could see the determination in his eyes, the sincerity backed by the fear. And love. To her every surprise she could see his love for her in his gaze even though she knew she no longer deserved it.

“If the victory is your life, then we must win.”

So simple, so sure. Yael tilted her head so that it rested against his chest. How long had it been since she had been able to lie quietly in her lover’s arms? “And then we can go home?” she whispered, eyes closing. She felt pathetic asking such questions, felt drawn utterly outside of herself, but there was something soothing in the asking of the impossible. “We can go back to Skyhold.”

“Yes, love,” Cullen assured her and if he was lying just as much as she then they were both doomed together. “Back to Skyhold and Elianwy.”

The sound of her youngest clanmate’s name sent a stab of pain through her. “Elianwy,” she breathed. “I miss her. I miss _you_.”

“I’m right here.”

“No you are far and away. I’m sorry, Cullen, I’m sorry ma’vhenan. I told you once that one day I would be forced to choose between you and my people. I failed you when you deserved better. I’m sorry.”

Her apologies faded along with Cullen’s whispered insistence that she would not fail him, could not ever fail him. The gentle lie was sweet upon his lips and it lulled her back into a blessedly dreamless sleep.

* * *

 

When Yael next awoke it was morning and her strength was returned to her. Well, more or less, she realized as she rose from her pallet on unsteady legs. Still, they supported her even with the slight limp in her step. Cullen was not beside her when she awoke, and she could tell that he had not stayed long at her side after she had fallen asleep. His words still felt rather like a continuation of her flurried dreams.

How could he still claim to love her as he did after what she had done to him? To his trust and his loyalty? How had she repaid that? He had confided his fear of magic to her, of the past tortures inflicted upon him and she had lashed out at him with such malice and blindness. If that was the Yael she was becoming he would do well to separate himself from her. She would do will to ease him into that parting, but Creators, she could not think how. She could not fathom pushing him away again.

The camp was only just beginning to wake as Yael stretched her legs, testing their strength and her endurance.

“Ah, at last she joins us!” A wholly unfamiliar voice rang out. Yael cocked her head to one side as she was approached by a man of middling years, dressed in the uniform of a Grey Warden.

On instinct she reached for a staff that wasn’t with her. The Warden approached calmly, his grey-eyed gaze neutral save for the smile on his thin lips. His hair was of a blond so startling it was almost white in the dawn light. He bowed a little in her presence. “I am pleased to see you returned to yourself, Your Worship. Your companions took the liberty of explaining who you were and your situation while you were incapacitated. I hope you do not mind if I introduce myself? My name is Hayden Claus Vanden, Your Worship. I am a scout for the Gray Wardens at Weisshaupt, as you may have no doubt guessed by my poor accent.”

“Warden Vanden, I am pleased to meet you,” she bowed her head in reciprocation, pleased indeed to meet a Warden whose first instinct was not to try and stab her.

The Warden chuckled, he had a good laugh, open and rather free. “Please, Your Worship, Hayden will be sufficient. My full name is rather long and quite unnecessary. I am afraid we were originally introduced under poor circumstances after the massacre at the Dalish camp, my deepest sympathies for the loss of your kin, Your Worship. If you will permit me, I would very much like to explain what we were doing at the gravesite. I imagine you do have questions?”

“Many, in fact,” Yael liked him. Straightforward and to the point, perhaps she would get some answers out of him after all.

“Ah, very well then, I shall endeavor to answer all of them to your satisfaction, Inquisitor. Please, shall we sit, I doubt there is any reason to stand on ceremony?”

Yael nodded, gesturing for him to take a seat first, following in his example as he did so. “Now then, Inquisitor,” he folded his hands in his lap, jutting forward at attention, “What would you have of me?”


	13. Chapter 13

It was remarkably easy to speak to Warden Vanden. He answered each question as promptly as Yael asked them. According to him, he and his troops were part of a reconnaissance team sent down from Weisshaupt to investigate rumors of a possible cure for the Calling. Yael understood very little of what the Wardens referred to as The Calling, she knew it only as a deadly curse that shortened the lifespan of all the Wardens, the sickness of the Blight eventually catching up with their bodies. It sounded a cruel way to die, but Hayden merely shrugged as if he had described the change in the weather.

“All Wardens accept their fate, Inquisitor. ‘In death, sacrifice,’ those are our words.”

“We have not had much word out of Weisshaupt in nearly a year,” Yael brokered the question. “There are those who insist that such silence is a sign of contempt towards the southern countries and towards the Inquisition.”

At that Hayden laughed. “Ah, yes, my comrades can be a secretive lot. Not without reason, of course, you understand. Believe me, your Worship, if we had any news worth reporting we would, of course, share it with you. The Wardens at Weisshaupt remain vigilant to the real threat of this world. The Blight. Many of my commanding officers believe that if there is nothing to report on such a score there is no need to send out messages at all.”

“But you do not share such views do you?”

“Not necessarily, your Worship. Even as isolated as we are in the Anderfels, we are still a part of Thedas. Our silence could easily be mistaken for negligence, or worse.”

“You know that the Inquisition has had dealings with your southern comrades in the past?”

“We do.”

“Any questions you would ask of me on that front?”

But the man only continued to smile, kindly, as if he was about to educate a very small child on a matter far beyond her comprehension. Yael stifled the pique of annoyance that struck her. She did not know all matters concerning the Wardens, perhaps there was indeed something to be learned here.

“What is to ask?” Hayden scoffed, “our southern brothers and sisters were weak in the face of our foe and fell as a result.”

“That is a rather harsh judgment to cast, they were dealing with forces far beyond--”

“Far beyond those of ordinary folk, but a Warden is no ordinary soldier. A Warden must stand vigilant against the darkspawn and not fall prey to their machinations. I know it must seem a harsh thing to say about one’s own troops, but we cannot afford sentimentality. Our enemies certainly don’t.”

Yael had heard the Anders were a peculiar folk and Hayden was certainly not veering from such impressions. He smiled freely enough and spoke plainly through his accent, but his views were hard as stone, nearly zealot-like with his belief in the purpose of the Wardens. Yael now saw that his smile held no joy and little light, it was more like a fixed mask, as false as an Orlesian’s. That did not, Yael reflected, make his words any less honest or true, at least in his own mind surely.

“Speaking of fallen Wardens, have you heard of any of your soldiers abandoning their posts of late, or acting in a manner unbecoming?” Here they drove to the heart of the matter.

Hayden titled his head. “I am afraid I do not understand your Worship’s meaning.”

“Nearly two weeks ago I was attacked in Halamshiral by two Wardens. They seemed to be under the impression that I was bent on starting another Blight.”

“Maker’s mercy!” Hayden swore, eyes widening.

“So far I have found them to be operating alone. Perhaps they are a sad reminder of the war, perhaps they are outliers of a larger group. But you have not heard of anymore Wardens going mad?”

“I swear to you, your Worship, this is the first I have heard of such a thing. You are certain they were Wardens? Not imposters meant to demean our Order?”

“That is possible but unlikely. Why accuse me of starting another Blight? Why the accusation that I had corrupted the Order? No, Hayden, I believe they were Wardens.”

Yael watched him think over her words, rolling them about in his head as he struggled to find the proper words to say. “Then I will send word to Weisshaupt at once,” he announced, “If there are such extremists still within our ranks they will be rooted out and dealt with.”

“My thanks.”

“No, Inquisitor, it is I who must thank you for bringing me this news.” He rose to his feet, dusting down his uniform and holding out a hand to help Yael up. She accepted, far too weak to be proud enough to refuse.

Her legs still wobbled as she regained her balance. “Oh,” Hayden clicked his tongue, turning to rummage through a pack he carried looped through his belt. “I should have mentioned, we found this in the ruins.”

Yael looked down as the Warden placed a smooth obsidian stone in the palm of her hands. There were etchings carved into the jet black rock, carvings of symbols and letters. “It was in one of the graves. It was not our intention to disturb the dead, but upon moving the headstone we were attacked by demons. It was why we were ill-prepared for the darkspawn ambush shortly thereafter. I figure it must be of some importance or why set a trap for would-be robbers such as us?”

Yael stilled the bottled rage at his words. Her first instinct was to claw his eyes out for pilfering through the graves of her dead, but she saw the honesty in Hayden’s gaze and the sincere sorrow for having to perform such tasks. The Wardens must be truly desperate thing to send a team on such a suicide mission. They would have known that all elven graves were so guarded.

“Perhaps you could make better sense of it than I?”

“Thank you,” Yael’s voice was hollow as she curled her fingers around the obsidian. “I will study it at once.”

Hayden bowed low before turning on his heel and leaving her. Josephine’s words filtered through her head. The Anders were a deeply religious people. The Chantry and the Wardens are seen as the ultimate law of the land. He would see her as the agent of Andraste herself. Yael let that annoyance wash over her. She could no more change the man’s mind than any other shem she had ever spoken to. Yael turned the stone over in her hand, letting the smoothness rub against her calloused fingers. She could feel the faint thrum of magic radiating off of the stone, it drew the voices out once more, louder as they fed off the ancient magic.

They would look through the carvings etched on the obsidian together and unlock its meaning. But for now there were other, more pressing matters to attend to. Drawing on what little reserves remained to her, Yael headed north from the camp back to the Dalish clan. There were rites to be spoken and kin to be laid to rest. There were no other Keepers in the region to perform the task, so it fell to her. She pocketed the stone and went to her people.

* * *

 

When it was done Yael remained kneeling in the scarred campsite. The ground was still blackened with ash, but Yael had cleared away the rubble. She had placed river rocks over the bodies of her kin to mark where they lay. She had no seeds to plant the ritual tree over their graves, but she scored the earth above their heads in the hopes that one day life might see fit to grow anew in this place. Her throat was sore from singing the ritual mourning songs to guide her people into Uthenara. The voices supplied her with the full and proper words, for the first time in ages a Keeper sang the songs in her mother tongue and for that gift she was grateful.

She was exhausted again, having used up most of her newly returned strength to bury the dead. Yael found it difficult to rise, so she remained on her knees, watching over her people in silence, a strange sense of peace washing over her in the aftermath of so much rage.

Someone came to sit at her side, she knew before she raised her head that it was Dorian. Her friend knelt beside her quietly, his shoulder just touching hers. Yael jumped when she felt another presence at her left side, one far larger and less graceful in his approach. She could not help but smile as Iron Bull tried to kneel gently beside her, large hands unsure of where to go or what to do.

“They are at peace now,” Yael sighed. “I could grant them that much.”

“It is quiet now,” Cole appeared in the middle of the camp, stepping gently around the freshly dug graves. “They are quiet and they would thank you, if they could.”

Yael smiled, looking at Cole then Bull then Dorian. “My friends…”

“If you are going to apologize…” Dorian began.

“Save it,” Bull finished.

She shook her head. She could remember a little now, of what had happened after she had discovered the clan massacred, of what she had done in the grotto. She had seen their terror at her transformation, yet still they sat beside her.

“I was going to ask you to help me up as I find myself unable to stand.” It was only half a lie, but she appreciated the sound of Dorian and Bull’s laughter. The voices rallied against the sound of joviality in such a place, but no, Yael insisted. This was once a place of life, it felt good to hear such sounds echoing about the empty space.

Bull hauled her to her feet with one hand while Dorian took her by the arm and walked with her back to the Warden’s camp.

“We saw you talking to the Warden lieutenant,” Dorian remarked. “He appeared a great deal more civil than his counterparts at Halamshiral.”

“So he seems,” Yael explained the situation at Weisshaupt and why they were so far from the Anderfels. “And he gave me this,” she pulled out the stone and rolled it over so that it rested in her palm.

“Fascinating,” Dorian mused, peering over to get a better look. “Maker, you can feel the magic coming off that thing. What do you suppose it is?”

“I was hoping that between the two of us we’d be able to decipher it.”

“A challenge, hm? Well I could use one of those after all this miserable traveling.”

“You two do that,” Bull grunted, “Just as long as, y’know, you don’t accidentally blow us all half way to the Void.”

Yael chuckled to herself, a sheen of normalcy draped itself over her eyes as she listened to her friends talk. When they arrived back the camp. Bull left her and Dorian to mingle with other Wardens, the young soldiers had taken a shine to the Tal-Vashoth warrior and Yael was glad to see him in high spirits. It could not have been easy traveling with her, watching her spiral into...whatever it was she was becoming.

She and Dorian took up their places on the edge of camp. Yael placed the on the top of one of the upturned logs currently being used for benches. She tried to angle it so that the etchings caught the light. Dorian frowned, craning his head this way and that. “I can barely make out the carvings, can you?”

“A little. They’re too faded.” She could just make out a few of the symbols, like the keys someone would find on the edge of a map. Yael could feel the magic drawing her in, but her mana was far too depleted for her to form a connection back. “Dorian, pour some mana into it.”

“Yes, pour some magic into the ancient artifact that we know nothing about. I’m sure that’s a reasonable method of investigation,” the Tevinter muttered as he crouched low to examine the obsidian.

“Nothing bad is going to happen.”

“You know this for a fact do you?"

“Yes.”

They both looked at one another. Yael did not know how she knew that no harm would come to either of them by pouring magic into the stone, but she could feel the answer was right, as if she had used such tools all her life. Dorian seemed to regard her with a sharper eye. He nodded once and she could feel him reach for the Fade, feel the familiar pull of the Veil widen around them as he brought forth a small amount of raw magic. She could see him move the thin strand close to the stone, spooling it into the obsidian like yarn on a loom.

All at once the symbols on the stone began to glow, becoming brighter, more visible. Yael grinned, tapping her hands on the log in excitement. “More!” she urged, “Just a bit more.”

Not about to stop, Dorian shuttered in more of the magic until the glow of the symbols widened out past the stone itself, a reflection of them hovering in the thin air, lyrium-blue and as detailed as a map. Yael could see the range from the western parts of Orlais up to the southern reaches of the Anderfels. A thrill jolted through her as she scanned the symbols, ancient elven and somehow she could understand them.

“Look!” she felt as giddy as a young First again, “Hah! Look here, a path leading up through the Western Approach, see the Abyssal Reach? It goes up past the plateaus and here is where it ends.” Her finger circled a scrawling mark on the map. The voices all sang together and she felt her energy come back to her in a rushing gasp.

“The Tirashan forest?” Dorian supplied. “Maker, hardly anyone has been there in ages. It’s all wild!”

“And there is where we are headed. I can feel it. There is something in those forests the voices want me to find; that I need to find.”

“Not to tempt fate, but Yael, your voices have not exactly been the best guides.”

“They will never let me be until I go, Dorian. Whatever is out there, whatever it is they want me to find, maybe it holds the key to ridding their hold over me once and for all. I have to take that chance.”

Dorian sighed. “Ancient magics, rogue Wardens, impossible journeys, sounds like old times. Remind me again why I decided to follow you?”

Grinning, Yael snatched up the stone, the magic sputtering free as the map disappeared back into the artifact. “Tell the others, let them know we’ll be heading out soon and we finally have our destination.”


	14. Chapter 14

Yael wondered how it was that she had come to lead a small band of travelers. When she had run from Skyhold she had imagined her undergoing this journey alone. Now it seemed impossible to believe she had thought such a feat accomplishable.

They had gathered up their party and moved out with all the efficiency of an army. Yael, Dorian, Iron Bull, Cole, and Cullen, plus the addition of three Grey Wardens. Life had led her down stranger paths before.

The voices grew louder as they left behind the Exalted Plains and entered the barren wastes of the Western Approach. They veered away from the cities and towns that dotted the landscape closer to the Imperial Highway, the less that was seen of them the better. Yael did not need rumors spreading through all of Orlais that the Inquisitor was leading a band of Wardens through the Empire. The war was still not far from people’s memories, and not everyone had forgiven the Wardens for the acts of treason while under the sway of Corypheus.

Yael was beginning to understand what those Wardens must have felt; feeling their sanity slip away from them, feeling their will manipulated by a force far beyond them. The helplessness such things created and the realization that all you once were was now past recognition. It drew a shudder from Yael as the voices grew ever louder with every passing day upon the road.

The wind had become drier, hotter, the ground cracked and bled sand the further they drifted from the grasslands.

“Reminds me of home,” Warden Vanden had remarked with a laugh.

Deserts never ceased to amaze Yael. Having grown up in amongst the wooded lands in the Free Marches and occasionally venturing out to the coastal scrublands, deserts were the most foreign regions imaginable to her. The sheer size of them boggled her mind and the vast emptiness. It always seemed like such a waste. She could only imagine what the Anderfels looked like if they were anything at all to compare to the Approach.

Yael glanced over at her companions. Dorian was focused on the map that glowed in his hand. She had given him the artifact a while back after he had pestered her to let him study it just a bit more; how could she have refused his request? Dorian was a much better scholar than she ever was and he would make better use of it.

The voices had not liked that and they had punished her for handing over one of her people’s artifacts to a Tevinter mage with crushing headaches and nightmares that left her breathless and disoriented come the morning.

Dorian was explaining the mechanics of the artifact to Iron Bull who, Creators bless him, was doing his best to appear interested for Dorian’s sake. The lyrium that had been carved into the rock could be activated with a simple spell, but Yael had never seen a mirrored reflection of carven words before. It was an old magic, simple yet detailed. The voices knew how such enchantments could be made, what else did they know of the old magics?

Cullen kept pace slightly ahead of the rest. They had hardly spoken since that evening on the Exalted Plains, but he kept a close presence. No matter what he had said Yael knew a chasm had formed between them. Could he hear the pattern of her thoughts? He turned to glance behind him and caught her gaze. Yael straightened, mouth opening to say...what? She let the moment pass in silence.

“There’s a stream not far from here,” he reported. “It’ll be the last we see of fresh water for a while. I’ll take the flasks and see that they’re filled.”

It was odd to see him volunteer to do the job of the lowest recruit when he was still clad in the armor of the general of the Inquisition, but no one challenged him. They handed over their water flasks and Cullen accepted them. Yael took out her own and passed it off to him. He nodded, his fingers skimming over her own for the briefest of seconds before they separated.

She stood watching him grow further and further from sight. The rest of them moved on. There was no safe area to set up camp this out in the open. Cullen would know to catch them up, he’d look for signs of their campsite and go to them in due time. But somehow this was not good enough, the logic of it all failed to impress. The Approach was dangerous, even for whole troops of soldiers to pass through, and he had gone out scouting on his own.

“Cole.” Yael had felt the spirit hovering not too far from her. He appeared at her side, rather sheepish for being found out. “Tell the others I’ve gone to help Cullen. Tell them I’ll return shortly.”

“Good,” he sounded relieved. “I’ll tell them not to worry.”

She knew he would. Straightening up she parted from the rest of her companions and headed off in Cullen’s direction. She knew the stream he spoke of, it came rushing out of the canyon where the mines were. During the war the mines had been full of red lyrium and Venatori, now it was strangely peaceful. It was quite the hike to march through the sand-swept dunes and down a rocky outcropping to the road below, but it did not take very long, and luckily she knew the area well enough.

She found Cullen sitting by the rushes, a scattering of water flasks and bottles at his side. The sand muffled Yael’s approach, for which she was grateful. She hadn’t exactly planned out what she was doing here. In all likelihood Cullen wouldn’t even want to be alone with her. Let him send her away himself if it was so. The voices--loud as they were--were distracted by the proximity of their destination. Rare moments of peace in her own mind were to be taken advantage of now, not squandered with self-pity and inaction.

Much to her surprise Yael watched as Cullen removed his cloak and gauntlets. He unstrapped the platemail from his chest and removed his vambraces and pauldrons first before the chestplate. Breathing out, he pulled upward on his red, leather jerkin, revealing the white, linen tunic he wore underneath his armor. Pulling on the strings along the collar to loosen it he shrugged out of the tunic and let it fall so that it rested atop his discarded armor.

Now she could see why Cullen had wanted to complete this task alone. His right arm was swathed in bandages leading up and over his shoulder. They were a mess, torn and ragged from long days trekking through the rough terrain.

A gasp left her lips before she could stop herself. Cullen turned his head, jumping to his feet and reaching for his tunic. “Yael! What...Maker’s breath...what are you doing here?!”

“Creators,” she had her mouth covered with both hands. “Creators, ma’vhenan what did I do to you?”

Cullen dropped the pretense of hiding the bandages, sighing and sitting back down upon the streambank. “It...it looks worse than it is.” Yael was not sure how it could be any worse.

She came closer, waiting for him to flinch away from her, make any sign that he would prefer her to get as far away from him as possible, but he did not move, only held his gaze steady as she approached, closing his eyes as she reached out to touch the bandages.

“Yael, why did you come here?”

“I wanted to see you.”

She reached into his pack that he had placed at his side with the rest of his armor. Fumbling, she found a small parcel of fresh bandages. “I’m afraid that’s all I have left. I left Skyhold in a hurry and did not know how long I would be gone. My own fault, poor foresight. Yael, you don’t have to--”

Yael hushed him as she began to unwind the dirty, torn bandages from his arm. She was no healer, but she worked as gently as she could. As the bandages fell away she could see the fading reddish scar decorating his skin. A healer had seen to him before he had left, thank the Creators. In time the burns would fade to white and leave barely a mark, but Yael saw them as vibrant and black as ever. As superficial as the damage might have been it covered a wide area, the whole of his upper arm, his shoulder and half his back were covered in motley patches of red and pink scar tissue. She found she couldn’t breathe. She thought she needed to see just what she had done, but the sight of it only made her sicker.

“Remember when you came back to Skyhold after fighting that dragon in Crestwood? Maker, the state you were in. Limping in on your staff, refusing a stretcher, hair singed and the rest of you dotted with burns? You were fine, but I tried to haul you back to your chambers and keep you there until every healer in the Keep had had a chance to look at you.”

“Oh Cullen, that’s not the same thing.” She bound up his arm with the last of the fresh bandages.

“Why not?” He asked softly. “You fret over me almost as much as I do over you.”

“Cullen!”

“What would you like me to say?” He wrenched his arm away from hers and tied off the bandages himself, pulling far more tightly than was necessary. His hazel eyes flashed in the sunlight. “I know that that was not you. I know what has happened to you, I know how much you’re fighting back.”

“That does not change anything. It was my magic that hurt you.”

“The magic hurt far less than finding out you had left Skyhold without word. Hurt far less thaen hearing our child cry half the night because she had no idea where you had gone!”

It was almost a relief to hear him shout at her. Yael welcomed the anger. Cullen clutched at his arm, turning his face away from hers, his brow knotting. “Maker, Yael, you just...left.”

“I did not think I was worthy to have a place amongst the Inquisition after that and I...I thought you would never want to see me again.” Cullen looked as if she had punched him in the stomach at her words. “I made you a promise once that I would never use my magic to hurt you,” she couldn’t look him in the eyes.

Yael felt Cullen’s thumb brush just under her chin as he tilted her head up. “I’m alright, Yael.”

“Stop lying for my sake!” She shoved his hand away.

Creators, this is not what she came her to do. She heaved a sigh that felt as if she was dredging it up from the abyss itself. Cullen remained sitting down, staring ahead as if she was not beside him.

“When we won the battle at the Arbor Wilds I was furious with you,” Cullen said so very quietly, winding the old bandages around his hand again and again, tightening with every breath and releasing with every exhale. “You had already gone through the eluvian with Morrigan, but I was still in the Wilds with the rest of our forces. I didn’t realize what you had done at first. Corypheus nearly brought the entire temple down in his rage before he fled. I went in, did you know? I never told you. I went in thinking you were still trapped inside. It took four of my soldiers to drag me out before the entrance collapsed. Of course you were safe and well, but I didn’t know that yet. Maker, I had images of your broken body being carried out of those ruins…”

“It was two days before word reached us that you were back at Skyhold. Two days of blind panic and…”

“Cullen, please.”

“No! No, I want you to hear. I want you to understand. I kept thinking I should have gone in with you. Why? Why did I say you could go on ahead? I go over that moment often. When I saw you back at Skyhold I knew that something had happened. And I thought that for all that the day was a victory it still felt like a failure.” Cullen looked up at her, a sad smile on his face.

Yael wanted to tell him it wasn’t a failure, that he had not failed her, that the choice she had made was so far beyond the both of them together, but the words evaporated on the tip of her tongue. Cullen already knew what she would say, he did not need to hear the old excuses, the old rationales. He wanted something she could not give him.

“Perhaps we both failed one another that day,” she said.

“It seems so.”

Cullen shrugged back on his tunic back on, looking far older than Yael had ever seen him. She bent down and handed him his jerkin as he leaned over to reach for it. Their eyes met. “Cullen, I don’t want to lose you.”

“Nor I you.”

“Then what do we do?”

He sighed, “Wwe begin again? We don’t leave one another. We stay. We fight.”

“I...I think I can promise that.”

“That gives me more comfort than you know,” he kissed the corner of her lips and Yael eased herself down so that she was practically sitting in Cullen’s lap. His arms curled about her shoulders, his hand cupping the back of her head.

“Now first order of business I’d say is getting these flasks refilled,” Cullen smiled, it was the first time it held the promise of anything real. He squeezed her round the middle and urged her back onto her feet. “Think you can handle helping me with that?”

Yael laughed low in the back of her throat, she looked down to see that their hands were still neatly intertwined. “I believe I can, ma’vhenan. I’ll certainly do my best.”


	15. Chapter 15

It appeared that Yael had reached an uneasy truce with Cullen. She could feel just how much the man wanted a full reconciliation, almost as much as she herself did, but that would not be had all at once. Still, Yael believed it was better than it had been. Cullen kissed the side of her head as he gathered up the newly filled water flasks. She turned ever so slightly at his touch and tried to capture his mouth with her own, the moment her lips brushed his he parted from her. Not ready yet. He had a flush upon his cheek and Yael saw it as a brand of shame, but Yael merely touched his hand, letting a single finger stroke up and down his wrist. It was alright, she tried to suggest. He could take as much time as he needed before his trust was fully regained. It was enough to know they were not lost to one another entirely.

Cullen smiled and squeezed her hand. “I love you,” he assured her.

“Ma’vhenan…” such words came far easier to him than they did for her. She leaned forward instead, letting her forehead and his meet. It reminded her of simpler times, which seemed odd to think of. They had been in the middle of a war and neither had known what the outcome would be, but at least then Corypheus had been an enemy they could face head on. This was all smoke and whispers in the dark. Yael surprised herself with how badly she wished to rewind time and find herself back in Cullen’s room, morning light streaming in through the broken rafters.

She could feel Cullen’s breath tease a few strands of her hair and if it weren’t for the water flasks they were both holding she would have wrapped her arms about him then and there. Was he thinking the same as her? She remembered how hard she had laughed when Cullen had made his grand romantic gesture, sweeping the books, and papers and bottles from his desk and laying her down atop it. Yael had never laughed so hard in her life as she had that night. He had draped himself atop her only to kiss her, tease her, and sheepishly ask himself what he had been thinking. Creators above it had been easier that night to feel just how much she had grown to love him. They had made their way up to his room, spending the night lying on his bed, talking, joking with one another. Any other man would have asked for more, but Cullen was not any other man. Their quiet nest of intimacy was found in shared words, silences, and clasped hands. In that moment, Yael would have given anything to go back to that.

Cullen nudged against her, his stubble grating against her cheek, making her forget herself and laugh.

“Come on then,” she insisted, letting the moment fall away, “by now the others will no doubt be spreading rumors about us.”

“How would we ever survive the scandal?” Cullen remarked dryly.

They walked side-by-side, shoulders brushing up against the other’s, steps in sync, and spirits somewhat lighter than before. The voices were growing in confidence again, expressing their displeasure at this new development. Yael beat them back as she would always beat them back, she swore.

“Oh praise Andraste!” a voice from behind announced with a gasp of relief, “Thought I’d never see water again.”

The both of them turned to see two figures rounding the corner of the streambed. A woman ran right into the water and practically threw herself face down to drink. Her armor had a red tinge to it that struck Yael as familiar before she caught sight of her companion. An older man moved in behind her, dressed in padded leather armor. He carried a sword and simple metal shield strapped to his back. His black beard obscured most of his face, but Yael would recognize the man anywhere.

“Blackwall?”

The man looked up, squinting against the light of the sun. “Maker….it can’t be?”

If she was surprised it soon gave way to a burning rage and this time she did not need the aid of any voices of the past to fuel her anger. She dropped the flasks and stormed over to them, Cullen calling a warning as he followed.

The woman shot up from the stream, short hair dripping as water rolled off her dark skin. “What’s going on here?” she asked.

“Holy Maker,” it was Cullen’s turn to fall back in surprise. “Hawke?”

The Champion of Kirkwall splashed out of the shallows, with a feral grin. Even Yael was shocked by her appearance. Her armor was shabby and seemed to fit her no longer. She was gaunt, her cheeks sunken in and her eyes deep-set into her skull. Her cropped, black hair was a mess as if she had hacked most of it off with a dull knife. The last time Yael had seen the Champion she had been making her way to Weisshaupt. And the last time Yael had lain eyes on Blackwall she was seeing him escorted through the gates of Skyhold by the Wardens to undertake his Joining. How very disappointing that he clearly had survived such an ordeal. But to be in the company of the Champion…?

“Well isn’t this a happy reunion?” Ava Hawke said with a laugh. She slicked back her wet hair, her legendary golden eyes cat-like in their examinations. “All out here in the middle of nowhere, chased by varghests, wild dogs, and Maker knows what blighted else. Couldn’t have picked a better spot, so why are you here?” Her tone switched from bright to interrogating faster than Yael could have kept up.

“I might ask the same of you, first.”

“Inquisitor,” Blackwall interjected. “I swear by the Maker I had no idea--”

Yael could have laughed, “Swear to no god, it won’t make me trust in your words anymore. You’re here. I assume there is an explanation. One of you will tell it to me, preferably the Champion, I am at the very least inclined to believe her tale over your version.”

Hawke raised her eyebrow, glancing from Blackwall to Yael. “I was attempting to flee Weisshaupt fortress. Blackwall here was aiding me in my escape.”

“Flee?”

“It seems our Warden friends are no longer to be trusted,” Hawke’s face darkened. “A month after I came to bring them the news of Corypheus they imprisoned me. Your, er, ally here, Blackwall. He saw me in the dungeons and recognized me. Broke me out. And here we are. Traveling together more out of convenience than anything.”

The Wardens had imprisoned the Champion? It would have seemed outlandish if Yael hadn’t seen the madness of the Wardens with her own eyes before. “Why would the Wardens capture you?” It was Cullen who asked the question before she could.

Hawke regarded the former Knight-Captain like one would an ant at the bottom of one’s boot. Her hatred from the Templar Order was well known. When Hawke had first been introduced to The Inquisition she had punched Cullen square in the face. Cullen had told Yael that he had deserved it.

It seemed an equally violent reunion was not to be had today. Hawke only shrugged her shoulders in response to Cullen’s question. “Since when have the Wardens been forthcoming about anything they choose to do? All I know is that one day I was a guest and the next I was being hauled off to some miserable cell.”

Hawke’s bravado was an even poorer front than Yael’s. Yael had traveled with the woman enough to know that most of her humor was a there to mask the constant haze of panic and anxiety her world consisted of. Even now she could see those golden eyes dartinged about in the woman’s head, furtive and searching. Constantly looking for the quickest escape route.

“Perhaps our Warden companions could enlighten us?” Yael asked of Cullen who nodded in agreement.

“You’re traveling with the Wardens?” Hawke looked ready to draw her daggers on them both.

“Incidentally, yes. I had come out here on business concerning the Inquisition and we had a...run in with them in our travels.”

The memory of the ransacked Dalish camp was still fresh in her mind. Yael felt Cullen inch closer towards her in an instinctual act of comfort. “Come back with us. Our companions will have set up camp not too far from here. Come, we have food and supplies, a thing I doubt you have an abundance of.”

“I’m not walking into another Warden trap!”

Blackwall placed a hand on Hawke’s arm, urging her to lower her weapons. “When the Inquisitor makes a request of you, I find it best to do as she says.”

Too right! She wanted to retort, but she let the petty desire flake off her. Blackwall still did not meetan her gaze head on, nor should he! She had put him far from her mind this past year, but the sting of his betrayal had never fully healed. He had been the first to make her believe that she could make a difference throughout Thedas by accepting the title Inquisitor. He had been the one to convince her that she need not believe she was truly the Herald, but that the people needed a symbol. He had pbut thoughts of honor and hope in her head, and for a shem such notions were a rarity to see. She had considered him lethallin as she had with Dorian and Iron Bull, but itthat had all been a lie.

“Will you come with us?” Yael asked again.

“Do I have a choice?” Hawke sheathed her blades, her voice a resigned drone.

Yael might have laughed if she didn’t feel the her former lightness drifting further away from her like a ship unattached from its moorings. “All of us have a choice.”

* * *

 

It took hours to find where the others had set up camp. Most of the trail that had been left had been scourged by the sand and blasted wind. But Yael was undeterred. The voices guided her better than any physical trail. She felt it more like a distant song, a melody that rolled over and over in her head, becoming sharper if she turned in one direction and more dissonant if she went another.

Blackwall seemed unconcerned with the remnants of the trail as well, listening for something past the wind, and scanning the sand-swept basin for something past sight. Yael did not like this moment of shared connection. Creators, out of all her friends and allies she had hoped never to see him again. Did her gods enjoy watching her dance to their tune? Yael had seen enough of fate to know the difference between coincidence and providence. Perhaps Mythal was somewhere even know laughing at the foolishness of her servant trying to rewrite destiny. After all, she had snuck away from the main path hadn’t she? Yael had gone off like a thief in the night once again to steal back a piece of a life she had no right to claim. One moment of respite from the constant flood of the voices and instead of taking the time to reflect on the mission, on how her powers were growing within her, on how her own kin looked her like the emblem of their Creators come again, she had gone to seek solace with a shem.

So now here she was with the painful reminder that no matter how far she went something would always come to drag her back. Oh yes, Yael thought spitefully, Mythal was surely watching her every move. How she must enjoy tormenting her newest servant so effortlessly.

She looked over at Cullen and could see a similar darkening of his spirits as well. He must have known their brief moment together would not last. Was that how it was to be? Sneaking away in the silences to lie to one another that they would always be there for each other? That nothing had changed and it was still them against the entirety of the world? What childish nonsense! Yael’s past words seemed ridiculous when she played them over again in her head. Or maybe that was just the rising tide of the voices convincing her of that. Cold sweat dripped down her neck despite the heat of the late afternoon desert sun. This back- and- forth between her self and this other Yael that was slowly encroaching upon her being seemed endless. One moment she was certain and the next she was certain of nothing and the next she was something else entirely.

They found the others camped in the shadow of a plateau. Yael tried not to think about how soon they would be climbing those flat mountains to get to the forests beyond. The mood in the camp was made no less anxious by the idea, it seemed. Dorian and Iron Bull were looking up at the same mountains, no doubt wondering how they were going to scale them. Slowly the others took notice of their two new guests.

Yael heard the sound of Cole appearing behind her and Hawke’s startled gasp. “I remember you,” she said, “The spirit who was always so kind to me. I am glad to see you are still here.”

“She remembers me!” Cole whooped and Yael had never heard the boy in such an excited state. “I knew she would.”

Cole was the only one who seemed genuinely pleased to see Hawke. The mood towards Blackwall’s return was far more subdued. Dorian and Iron Bull exchanged silent looks at Yael, but Yael had no answers for them.

“Dorian, Bull,” Blackwall nodded, “It’s good to see you again.”

“Likewise, I’m sure. Forgive me if we don’t leap for joy like Cole it is only...Maker’s breath, man, what are you doing out here? I thought we were the only insane ones to be found in the desert today.”

Leave it to Dorian to bring up the main point with a flourish of frivolity. Yael could see he was just as curious as to their real purpose out in the Approach. “The matter is complicated,” Yael answered in place of Blackwall, speaking through a clenched jaw and a jerk of her head. Dorian raised a brow before he caught on, Creators bless him.

“I see. A tale for the campfire then? I’d be most anxious to hear it.”

“As would I,” Warden Vanden announced as he walked over. His white-blond hair was slightly dusted by the sandy breeze, and the light glinted off his gray eyes like silver coins at the bottom of a fountain. The Warden’s demeanor was congenial and he approached with a winning smile as Hawke and Blackwall both recoiled. Hawke reached up for the daggers strapped to her back, far past subtlety. Blackwall had more of a soldier’s tact, resting his hand on the pommel of his sword, but making no move to draw it.

Hayden clicked his heels together and bowed smartly, “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure of being introduced to your friends, Inquisitor. And I must admit I am surprised to see another Warden out here. Well met,” he extended his hand to Blackwall. “Warden Hadyen Claus Vanden, at your service, and you?”

“Warden Blackwall.” It might have been the first time Yael had heard him state his full title and have it be the honest truth. The gods had a sense of humor after all. Blackwall had no choice but to shake Hayden’s hand. Yael studied the Anders’ face. There was nothing in his eyes nor his expression that spoke of concern or even recognition.

“And my lady,” Hayden turned his attention to Hawke as easily as a trained courtier moved effortlessly through the upper circles of Val Royeaux. “Forgive me, but has anyone ever told you that you bear a striking resemblance to the Champion of Kirkwall?”

“I would hope I do,” Hawke laughed humorlessly. “As I am her.”

“Then it is a genuine honor to make your acquaintance. I admit, by my last report I had heard you were still at Weisshaupt, but no matter. I am pleased to have the opportunity to meet you now.”

There passed an awkward moment of silence as Hawke refused to acknowledge Hayden’s greeting. He retracted his hand, looking first up at Hawke’s disgusted face to Yael to Blackwall’s stern and calculating gaze. “Ah, forgive me,” his brow scrunched into thin lines as he took stock of the cooling attitude of his comrades. “Have I...I fear I have missed something rather important?”

“Not at all,” Yael did not know why the urge to lie fell heavily upon her. “It has merely been a surprise encounter and I fear my comrades are rather exhausted from their journey so far. It appears Warden Blackwall was merely tasked with escorting the Champion from Weisshaupt. Commander Cullen and I came upon them replenishing their supplies at the same stream as us.”

Too late to retract it now. “Yes,” Hawke backed her up. “I apologize for my curtness, you see, I am just a little tired.”

“Of course,” Hayden said, concern giving ground to understanding. “Please, we are all friends here. It does us no good to turn away allies in this land.”

As the Warden began to walk away Hawke turned to Yael. “I hope you realize, that I do not intend to travel with you.” Her arms were crossed, eyes narrow. The intimidating stance did not work on Yael. “Wherever you are bound it is of no concern of mine. I did my part for the Inquisition and look where that got me?”

“No one is forcing you to stay,” Yael raised a hand to silence Hawke’s tirade. “You wanted the Wardens off your back for a time, so there it is. At least with us you will not be hunted.”

“Why did you lie, Inquisitor?” Blackwall asked.

Dorian and Iron Bull asked for clarification. “And here I thought we only had room for one conspiracy at a time?” Bull chuckled.

Yael explained: the chance meeting, Hawke’s escape, the evidence further damning the Wardens. And when she had finished the only question that seemed to be asked was “why?” Why was a dangerous question that had gotten them all into far too much trouble before. Why would the Wardens imprison the Champion? Why had two of them tried to kill Yael? Why had they had a run into with a scouting party far from any Warden outposts and why did Yael feel as if all these questions related to one single answer?


	16. Chapter 16

The nights in the Western Approach were cold. Yael had forgotten just how much, and Creators she hated the cold. There had been no wood for a fire so she huddled under the blankets she had and shivered. The rest of the camp was peaceful as the others slept, but Yael could find no such rest. In the quiet she could hear the voices growing louder, humming a sickly sweet tune that left her impatient to be on the move again. She remembered hearing such a melody once when she first stepped into the Well of Sorrows and drank from the waters. The voices had swarmed about her, humming and singing, the sound so distant and dear Yael nearly cried.

She sat up, blankets draped about her shaking shoulders. In the moonlight she could see her companions all around. Dorian and Iron Bull shared a bedroll, the massive qunari had the significantly smaller mage pulled in close to his chest. Yael felt a twitch at the corner of her lips. Those two were the oddest pair in all of Thedas. But they seemed happy. How they managed it she’d never know, she had asked Dorian once if he had ever felt as if he was betraying his people by choosing to be with a qunari.

Dorian had laughed. “There are many things my people would disapprove of,” he had told her. “It’s almost hard to imagine what they would choose first.” It hadn’t truly answered any of her questions, but she supposed he had been trying to tell her not to fret over what others might think. If so, the advice went right over her head.

Cullen was sleeping further away from the others in camp. She could see how tightly he had huddled up against the blankets. His nightmares still plagued him and he had taken care to make sure he would not disturb the others with his thrashing. Yael let her hand rest at the empty space at her side. Creators, she was so tired. She wanted to pick up her bedroll and place it down at Cullen’s side and maybe, just maybe, find some amount of sleep.

“Light sleeper?”

Yael blinked and looked over to see Hawke sitting up from her pallet as well. She had her knees drawn up to her chest and her golden eyes glinted to yellow in the pale light of the moon and the stars. Her dark skin gave her the brief impression that she was as ethereal as a shadow as the light played about her face.

“You might say that,” Yael replied.

Hawke smiled. The last time they had camped together had been in this very desert after they had seen first hand the corruption taking hold of the Warden mages. Even then she remembered how Hawke would take watch, claiming to have only taken the first of the night but in the morning she would have bruises under her eyes that came only with sitting up most of the night.

“I never properly thanked you for your help,” Hawke scratched at the back of her head. Yael could see the outline of her arm moving against the dark. “If I seemed less than grateful before it...ah Maker’s breath, it’s been a hard year.”

“Did the Wardens truly never tell you anything about why they had imprisoned you?” As much as Yael held her suspicions about the Wardens, there had always been an explanation for what they had done. Even Clarel, who had fallen to Corypheus’ sway, had only done so because she had wanted to stop a force she saw as a greater evil. How could Yael hate someone for trying to defend against so many?

Hawke shook her head. “They seemed glad to hear the news of what was going on in the South. And then one day they just…” she mimed the action of a slamming door. “They never accused me of anything. Never asked me for anything. It was as if they were...saving me for something. Maker knows what. I have no desire to find out. I’m done with Wardens. Done with all of it. Maker, I’m rambling aren’t I?” she drew in a shaky laugh, “I suppose that’s what happens when you’ve only had your own voice for company for a year.”

Yael tried to imagine being held in a cage for a year, not knowing why you were placed there, no hope of escaping, and no one there to listen to your pleas for help. “Where will you go then?”

“Home, wherever home is at the moment, I’m not exactly sure…” Hawke spoke the word like a woman at prayer. The longing in her voice an arrow aimed for the heart. “Varric would have told Anders to go to Weisshaupt. If he came I never knew. They could have turned him away at the gates. Maker, to think he was so close…”

Yael knew all the stories sung about Ava Hawke and Anders, the rebel mage who had lit the spark for the mage rebellion. She had first the heard the tales while still with her clan. Being in the Free Marches made it impossible not to know every version of the legend. It had quickened something within her, the first real light of hope for mages. She had wanted to be there, be a part of it all. Looking back on it now it might have been the only time she thought of any shemlen as ally and kin. They were mages together and this was their chance for freedom. It would change everything, not just for the human mages but for the Dalish as well. She had begged her Keeper to let her go to the Conclave, begged her to let her be the one to bring the news back to the clans. She had such high dreams of heroics, marching back from the peace talks to reveal what the shemlen were planning and how they could best use it to their advantage.

“Why are you out here?” Hawke asked. “You said it was Inquisition business, but to travel with so many and with the Wardens?”

“I thought you were done with Warden business?” Yael retorted.

“I was done interfering with it, I never said I was done being curious.”

“We’re traveling to the Tirashan forests. There may be something within that is of great importance to me and to my people.”

“Your people being the elves and not the Inquisition, I’m guessing?” How did she do that? Yael marveled at the Champion’s ability to read between the lines and suss out what was left unspoken. She lacked that particular skill, she either knew someone or she did not. “I wish you luck with such endeavors.”

“As I wish you luck in your journey home.”

In another life they might have been more than simply comrades, they could have been friends. Yael’s younger self would have loved that, the Yael that still idolized heroes and dreamed of walking with the ones of old. Creators, but had anything truly changed? That was still the same Yael that had tried to stop an ancient magister from sacrificing the Divine herself, it was still the same Yael that had shaken down the very mountains to stall a dragon and save a people she cared little for, it was still the same Yael who had taken up the mantle of Inquisitor and it was still the same Yael who had walked into the waters of the Well to save her people’s knowledge regardless of the consequences. She was what her choices made her same as the Champion’s.

Yael lay down, stretching out her limbs and willing herself to rest. The voices continued their quiet song and it fell upon her like a lullaby, sending her off to sleep at last.

* * *

 

The breath in her body was cut violently off and Yael came awake with a choking gasp that was little more than whimper. Thrashing, she kicked out at her attacker with her legs, but he had straddled her and pinned her to the ground.

Calm, stay calm, do not give in to panic. Yael reached out with her mana, felt the threads of her magic touch her fingertips before they were suddenly pulled away. Yael grappled with the air as the Fade was wrenched away from her.

“I realize I should have said this at our first meeting, but I was once a Templar before I took my oaths as a Warden.”

Yael hissed out, trying to bash the man’s face in with her head. Hayden Vanden loomed over her, blocking out the light of the stars. She could barely make out his face. His hands clamped down tight against Yael’s throat and she choked, clawing at the sand, trying to reach a handhold, anything she could use to force the man off of her.

The voices in her head screamed with outrage and Yael tried to burn, but the fire was no where to be found. Insignificant shem! She’d put him down like a mad dog, the lack of air in her lungs made the world lurch and spin until she was no longer certain if she was lying on the ground or floating in the air.

“I am sorry, Inquisitor,” Hayden whispered, bring himself close enough to whisper in her ear. “But I can hear the Calling in you. The rumors were true. I had hoped otherwise, truly I did. But I cannot let you live.”

What did he mean? Yael moved her mouth to ask a question with no sound. What calling? She was no Warden, she hadn’t undergone the Joining. Had they call gone completely mad? Darkness of a heavier nature was rushing up to meet Yael’s eyes. No, she had to stay awake. Her lungs burned as she tried to force slivers of air down into her body.

A scream broke the night.

“No! No! Get away!”

A blade appeared through the Warden’s chest and Hayden looked down in surprise. A second blade emerged, dripping blood through his heart. He was dead before he could protest. His hands falling away from her as his body rolled off of her.

Yael felt herself break apart as she gasped for air, coughing and drooling into the sand. Her breath cracked and struggled to worm its way down into her nearly crushed windpipe. White and black spots speckled her vision as she tried to make sense of what had happened.

Cole was at her side, his blades must have pierced her attacker. Yael smiled drunkenly up at the spirit as he rolled her off of her side. “Voices in the dark, could hear them singing. There’s a need to follow, but I won’t, I can’t! Sorry, so sorry. I hoped...hoped for another way, a better way, but the Champion will tell her. What’s one life against the Blight?”

“Maker what was that sound?”

“Is everyone alright?”

The startled sounds of the camp waking echoed all around Yael.

“Maker’s breath, what happened?”

“Inquisitor? Inquisitor can you hear me?”

That was the Champion’s voice. She felt the woman’s hands against her, one upon her wrist to check for a heartbeat and the other propping up her head. Yael felt another flood of air reach down into her, sharper this time, tearing at her throat.

“Warden Vanden is dead.” That was Blackwall.

“He was just scared,” Cole replied with someone that sounded akin to pity. “He didn’t want to kill the Inquisitor, he just couldn’t understand the song.”

“I say we round up the other two Wardens and make them explain this.” Iron Bull.

“I’ll help.” Dorian

It was all starting to come back into focus.

Yael sat up on her own, shrugging Hawke’s hands away just as Cullen pushed aside the others. Her name was a soft cry upon his lips, one of relief for seeing her alive. “She’s alright,” Hawke explained even as Cullen bent to take Yael into his arms. “Just disoriented. Her throat’s been bruised by this scum here, but she’ll be fine.”

“I…” Yael croaked out, “am going to...set...the lot of you...on fire…”

Cullen laughed, she could feel the gentle vibration rumble through his chest as he cradled her. “You shouldn’t speak just yet.”

But Yael wanted answers. She wanted the other Wardens brought before her and made to explain. She felt a steady outrage flourish under her skin. What had Warden Vanden meant? She wished Cole had left him alive for questioning. “Get...the others…” she gasped out. Dorian and Iron Bull were already more than happy to comply.

“Why in the Maker’s name would a Warden attack you?” Hawke asked.

“Because they think...I’m going to start another Blight.”

And much to her own surprise, Yael began to laugh.


	17. Chapter 17

The remaining two hapless Wardens knelt in the dirt. Iron Bull had taken the liberty of binding their wrists and ankles in case either any of them decided it would be a sound idea to flee. Yael stood over them. It was a rare moment when she felt she could truly tower over a human, she took pleasure in the little moments when they did occur.

Her throat still stung like someone had struck a flint inside it, but she was far from weak, as her two prisoners were about to find out. She paced, choosing her moment, biding her time. The Wardens appeared sullen, but not afraid. Did she want them to fear her? Yael had grown used to the idea of most shemlen fearing her on sight. Her dark skin combined with the crimson vallaslin that tinted half her face made for an intimidating sight she was certain.

“Your lieutenant is dead, as you well know,” Her voice was an eerie scratch and as bad as it must be to listen to it felt worse, like a thousand glass shards scraping through. “He died just as your other two assassins died and unless you wish to join them you had best explain to me why the Wardens seem so bent on killing me.”

The two remained looking straight ahead, unseeing, unflinching. Yael could admire their courage if her patience had not already reached a breaking point. Fire rose up from her staff when she stabbed it into the sand. The heat was so compacted that small, twisted glass spires rose up from the hole her staff had dug. It was a pretty trick she had taught herself while spending many nights camped in the barren wastes. Yael could see one of the Warden’s eyes widened as he pretended not to look.

“An easier question then,” she sighed, pacing once more. Cullen and Iron Bull stood behind each of the Wardens. TheirThey’re weapons were not in hand as of yet, but at the merest signal from her they would slit their throats. Iron Bull looked rather saddened. The Wardens were young, the man and woman barely out of childhood. But they could ill afford such sentimentality now. Cullen was pure steel in the rising dawn light. He stood tall, at the ready, watching Yael’s every move with equal parts pride and protection. Whatever he thought of their prisoners, it did not show on his face.

“Why imprison the Champion? Why cut ties with our messengers and send no word to the Inquisition for months?”

A defiant silence greeted her.

“Answer and I promise no harm comes to you. You will be freed and allowed to report back to Weisshaupt. I give you my word as Inquisitor.”

One of the Wardens, the girl, snorted. It was the first real sound that the two had even be paying any mind to her at all. “Your word?” she repeated in a perfect mockery of Yael’s scratched voice. “And what good does that do us? I don’t take the word of blighted things.”

“I am no Warden, I’ve undergone no Joining how then could I be blighted?”

The girl only shook her head, eyes narrowed to slits, “It doesn’t matter how. It matters that you are.”

“She’s stalling,” Iron Bull grunted.

“I will ask you only once more. Why are you here to kill me?”

She let the mana build in her staff, heating it so that it glowed white hot in her hands. “We weren’t here to kill you!”

It was the boy who broke first, the young lad, squirmed in his bonds. “At least...not at first.”

“Maker take you, Brennan, Maker curse you!” The woman spat.

“Look, there were orders,” The boy, Brennan, looked back at his comrade and then up at Yael. “Rumors that you had contracted the Blight. I don’t know how they started, but the Warden-Commander didn’t want to take chances. We were supposed to just take you to Weisshaupt. I...I don’t know what went wrong or why...but that’s why we had to have the Champion! Her blood could give us power to create something strong enough to hold you until we could learn what had happened. That’s it. That’s all either of us knows. I swear it.”

Yael could hear Hawke scoffing and spluttering in outrage behind her, but Yael was fixated on another point in the boy’s tale. If she was supposed to be taken back to Weisshaupt then the Wardens who attacked her at Halamshiral had either been foolish or had panicked. Then she realized. Creators! They had wanted her alone. They hadn’t anticipated Cullen being with her. And with them about to leave the palace it was a desperate gamble. They hadn’t been trying to kill her. They had been trying to distract her long enough to kill Cullen!

Anger boiled hot under her skin and it took all her will to let her mana cool in contrast. She had the information she wanted. “Let them go,” she waved to Cullen and Iron Bull. They cut the Wardens free of their bonds and they rose up on their legs, uncertain. Unlike them, she kept to her word. Let them run back to Weisshaupt and make their report. By the time they returned she would be long gone.

They both began to run, but barely made it five paces before they fell face down dead in the ground with a dagger in each of their backs. Iron Bull swore loudly and Yael whirled around in shock to look for the culprit.

“I gave them my word!” She shouted at Hawke, watching the rogue slowly lower her hands. Her face was a mask of fury as those golden eyes captured Yael’s in their intense stare.

“But I never gave them mine.”

“Maker, what a waste.” Blackwall sighed. “How could such corruption spread so fast?”

“Who cares about that?” Hawke shoved the remaining Warden out of the way to gather up her daggers. “How do we stop them is the better question?”

“Will the both of you be quiet so I can think?!” Yael’s shout was enough to get them to be silent, the raw sound made the Champion wince. Yael steepled her finger tips together and pressed the tips of her thumbs against the bridge of her nose.

Where would the Wardens get such a rumor about her having contracted the Blight and who would benefit most from such accusations? Creators, she wasn’t a Leliana or a Josephine, that she couldn’t untangle the web of conspiracies as adeptly as they could. She could only see the problem: the Wardens., Aand her brand of solution was to hammer away at the problem until nothingnone remained, but she couldn’t very well march on Weisshaupt even if she had a full army at her back.

The voices swarmed about her head. There was still the Tirashan forest to face. Whatever was there she needed to get to it. Creators, she needed to go with every fiber of her being, every second spent deliberating on this was another second wasted on what truly mattered. She could hear it calling out to her like a desperate cry. Maybe she was blighted...the ebb and flow of the unreachable song struck her as sour for the first time. Creators...maybe she was blighted…

“We move out,” Yael announced, pulling her staff up and slinging it onto her back. “Those who wish to accompany us are welcome, any who chose to leave may do so now. It’s a long climb up to the Tirashan.”

“We’re with you, Inquisitor.” Dorian spoke first.

“I cannot go back to the Wardens now,” Blackwall said. “Not if their orders will be for me to kill you. I’m with you, Inquisitor, if you will have me at your side again?”

Yael wanted to say no, wanted to spit his help back in his face, but she answered him instead with a simple nod. He had lied to her, had based the whole of their friendship on the pin of a lie and now it stabbed into her to think of him. But a quiet hatred was better than sending him back to be taken by the Wardens and one day facing him on opposite ends of a battle. She did not want that, strangely enough, she did not want to fight him.

“Maker take you,” the cry came from Hawke, who was standing with her daggers back in hand, dripping blood onto the ground. “Maker take every last one of you.” It was then Yael realized she was crying. “I am going with you.”

* * *

 

The climb up the plateaus was grueling. Lucky for them there was a thin path to truedge up, but the shifting sands underfoot made for a perilous walk. They walked in single file up the steep rock face. From this height Yael could see nearly the whole of the Approach and the smouldering ash rising up from the Abyssal Reach. It felt as if they were climbing their way off the edge of the map.

She could see the small mounds of sand where they had buried the Wardens. Poor fools. It would be months before anyone would suspect them missing. Months to plan, to investigate further into these rumors. Yael almost wished she had a raven at her side to send word back to Skyhold that she had found the source of the assassins and that Skyhold should be on alert from any Warden entourages that sought to pass through.

Yael reached for her water flask, tilting it back and finding that it was empty save for a few pathetic droplets. Her throat still burned from the choking, and in her need to quench it she hadn’t rationed her water. Creators, it was her own fault. She licked dry lips and tried to ignore the pain.

A hand upon her back gave her momentary pause, Yael could not turn, but she did not need to. A water flask appeared in the corner of her vision and she took it reluctantly. She took the smallest of sips, swallowing slowly and letting the water cool the bruises. She corked the flask and handed it back behind her shoulder.

“We can share it,” Cullen told her, his hand still gently upon her back. “At least until we find more water. Don’t speak just… just nod.”

She did. Somehow the climb did not seem nearly as tedious after that. They reached the flat-top peaks by sundown and Yael, trembling from exhaustion, kept up the pretense of steadiness. The others were making no secret of just how much the climb had taken from them. Hawke seemed especially fatigued. Having spent the last few months in a cell she was ill-equipped to be scaling mountains.

Yael found the Champion staring off down the side of the plateau, legs hanging over the side to dangle freely in the air. The wind whipped up about her, cooler now that they were above the desert.

“I can’t help but feel that whatever the Calling the Wardens believe you to be under, it is connected to your purpose here,” Hawke said. She must have heard the crunch of the gravel under Yael’s boot to speak to her without even turning around. “And if it is connected to the Calling then,” she sighed, shaking her head, “I must go.”

“For Anders’ sake?” Everyone knew that Anders had once been a Grey Warden, but even a one-time Warden still bore the Taint that marked him apart.

Hawke nodded. “If there is even a chance of a cure or--or an understanding of what it is, I have to know. Maker curse it, I have to know.”

Compassion came and struck Yael awkwardly, she became aware of her lumbered stance, the slow, drawling breaths she was sucking down her broken throat, and the way her arms swung out with no direction.

“But you’d do no less for Cullen, right? I mean why else would the both of you be out here chasing after--whatever it is your chasing after.” Hawke turned her gaze to Yael with a smile of camaraderie at the ready. An attempt at any rate.

“I…” she almost choked on her own answer “yes, yes I suppose I would.”

“Maker, you’re a strange one,” Hawke shook her head. “Thought so even when we first met. You keep your thoughts hidden, even from yourself. Got a wall around you thousands of leagues long. How can you live like that? Always calculating what you’ll say next in case you reveal something too quickly, it’s exhausting just thinking about it. What are you so afraid of?”

“I’m not afraid of anything.” The tone was harsher than she meant, childish. Creators, but she hated when people brought up fear as if it was a club to beat her with. Fear was as easy an obstacle to overcome if one simply had the will. Some might enjoy wallowing in it, but Yael had no time, it was easy to push it down. To force it into quiet obedience then let it fester in her mind like a poison waiting to kill her.

Hawke drew her legs back from the ledge, rising slowly, rotating her left arm to crack a stubborn joint. “We’ve all got something to fear. If I seem unreasonably cruel of late it is only because I am afraid for my husband and daughter; that I may never see them again. You speak like someone who swallows down her fears every day. I recognize the tone. Do you have children, Inquisitor?”

The sudden switch in question left Yael reeling momentarily. She blinked, regaining her footing as if she had just climbed up the plateau twice over. “Ah...no.” She thought of Elianwy, safe and sound back at Skyhold. Was she happy now? She had Cassandra, Josie, Sera, and Vivienne to look out for her. But that was not the same, was it? That was not the same as holding her in the night when she cried, or taking her hands and guiding her through her first steps on the grass in the courtyard. “But I have a ward.”

“A ward?” Hawke sounded as if she was about to laugh, Yael’s face flushed.

“My clan was massacred during the war, but my agents brought back one survivor. She was an infant when she came to us. She’s my clanmate. I am her Keeper.”

“Not the same bond as a mother and her child.”

“You know nothing of the bonds between a Dalish and her clan!” Yael hissed despite the scratching pain. “Elianwy is as integral to me as water as...as the breath in my body. I could no more separate her from myself than I could a limb.”

The sudden storm of words took both woman by surprise. Hawke patted her arm, an action which seemed unnatural to them both, but Hawke had a smile behind her golden eyes. “It sounds to me,” she said softly, almost kindly, “that this Elianwy is more your daughter than you think.” And she left her with that small statement, drifting back to the main body of the gang, leaving Yael alone to collect her thoughts.

Why had she said all of that? What had possessed her? Yael placed a hand over her mouth. If she was a mother than she was a poor one at that, leaving behind her child to fend for herself. Leaving behind her clan once again like she had done two years ago. No, she would not dwell on this. What good could come of it now? She would see Elianwy again. After she settled matters here. After she uncovered whatever was so blasted important to these voices. Maybe then they’d leave her in peace and she could resume her life. Dropping her hand, she turned away from the edge of the plateau only to see Cullen staring at her from the main camp. She froze. He was not so very far away at all. And the look in his eyes said quite plainly that he had heard everything.


	18. Chapter 18

“May I sit with you?”

“What a ridiculous thing to ask, Cullen, please--” Yael gestured for the man to sit beside her. He did so, shyly as if they were back again at the start of their unusual friendship. Back when Yael would come to his tower and convince him to take a break from his never ending procession of work. They’d talk, sitting on either end of his desk, sipping tea from cracked mugs and dancing around the feelings both had done a poor job of concealing.

He sighed. From this distance they could both see the edges of the Tirashan. The tree line seemed out of place on the dry plateaus, but there it was. Precariously clinging to life in the blighted wilderness. Yael let the silence envelope them. It was comfortable, a remnant of the life she had interrupted.

Yael felt Cullen place his hand over hers by inches. His fingers tracing a thin pattern against the side of hers before interlocking one by one. He wasn’t wearing his gloves, Yael noticed. “Your hands are cold,” he murmured.

“Is that so surprising?” Yael couldn’t help but laugh. “I’m always cold.”

He covered them anyway, rubbing life back into the tips of her fingers. The fading light caught the yellow in his hair turning it to gold. His face was always a rictus of concentration and focus, but doubly so now as he attended to her. Yael must be smiling, she could feel the strain on either cheek. She leaned in close, nose brushing against his curls, close enough to feel the scrape of his stubble against her face. He smelled like home, it came upon her in a flash of strange comfort. Home was still the aravels wheeling over the scrubland coasts of the Free Marches, and it was still in the songs told around the campfires and the gentle raps of the Keeper’s staff at the back of her head when her concentration drifted. But it was also in the gardens of Skyhold, in the beam of light in the corner of a bedroom with a broken ceiling, and here--of all the things--it was here at the edge of the world in a shared span of silence with a shem.

Cullen’s hazel eyes drew in the light. His hands had stopped their movement, coming to a rest as the two of them breathed in one another. They were both uncertain, as clumsy as they had been before their first kiss. Her lips hovered, head tilting to find the proper angle. Cullen closed the gap between them, doing so in a feather-light kiss. It was not so much a kiss as it was a meeting. Neither of them moved at first, but it was enough to feel Cullen as close as the space of a breath.

Yael felt his hands come up to cup the sides of her face. He whispered her name against her skin and moved, lips pulling at her own with a deliberate, familiar slowness. Nothing more was asked from her, nothing beyond this. Yael clutched at his wrists, pressing herself further still against him until she was forced to part from him out of a need for air. They remained together, foreheads touching, eyes closed.

“Maker,” he exhaled, “Maker it is almost worth traveling to the end of the world for that.”

“You don’t mean that,” Yael laughed against him, pressing another kiss to the corner of his lips.

“Alright maybe not.” She could feel Cullen’s laughter, for once genuine and calm, as he wrapped an arm about her waist. “But certainly better than waiting for you back at Skyhold.”

“Creators grant me patience,” Yael opened her eyes. “I should never have left you without word. I should have gone to you well before--it doesn’t matter now does it? But you were right, ma’vhenan. It seems foolish to think I didn’t seek your help.”

“Well now, this is rather a historic moment. You admitting I was right and you were wrong.”

Yael shoved him, listening to him chuckle to himself. She bit her lip to stop the grin from spreading across her face at the delightful sound. “You know, I recall there was a conversation you were meaning to have with me that kept getting interrupted. Any thoughts on that?”

Cullen’s thumb trailed down her cheek. “Oh, I’d rather save that for when we return.” There was a slyness to his tone that made Yael feel rather giddy for the secrecy.

“Important, is it?”

Cullen only smiled and answered with another kiss.

* * *

 

The forest came upon them like a rush of wind. Yael felt as if she had been pushed through a Fade Rift. One moment they were out on the high, scarred, plateau and the next they were enveloped in the dense foliage.

The Tirashan was an ancient wood, mostly untouched by civilization. Yael found she did not recognize some of the plants and here the trees grew so tall they nearly blotted out the sun. They had to climb up over protruding roots as big as oaks in and of themselves. It did not feel like the cool, familiar forests of Yael’s youth. Magic was heavy in the air and in the ground, she could taste it, lyrium-spiked, in the back of her mouth.

And the song grew louder in the embrace of the trees. Yael found herself drifting off to catch the distant words to no avail, but it led her true. The voices whispered softer, lower, more focused on the melody playing through the ancient groves and there was a desire in the back of Yael’s mind, a deep and impossible desire to find the source of the music.

Cullen caught her round the shoulders. Yael must have faltered in her step for half a moment. “Should we stop?” he asked, only for her ears.

“No. No, we’re close. We have to keep going.”

She had to find the song. None of the others could hear it, not like she could. She had a chorus of voices in her head all humming a tune that melted in her blood, sank there as naturally as anything. Cullen kissed the side of her head. “Remember that you are in control,” he whispered.

She was in control. She was leading the way. The song could steer her in either direction, but she would choose the path. Dorian held the map in his hands, raised high to collect as much light as possible to see by. They were close.

“I don’t like it here,” Hawke said to anyone who would listen. “Sets my teeth on edge, does anyone else feel that?”

“It’s the Veil,” Dorian answered before Yael could think to. “It’s unusually thin here.”

“Yes, yes, I can feel them. Pressed so close to the edge they might slip through. Hungry with the wanting, but it’s...quieter than when the Breach was open. They’ve been watching for a long time. So long. They’re content with the watching and the waiting,” Cole stood on top of one of the particularly large tree roots, head swiveling to catch the light. “But now we’ve come and we’re new. We’re interesting. They know she can hear the song too.”

All eyes looked to Yael at the spirit’s final words. “It’s true, I can hear it.”

Hawke swore. “So what the the Wardens said was true? You can hear the Calling?”

“There is something on the wind,” Blackwall looked on through the forest, “but it is too distant to make out.”

“No it’s loud. It’s constant,” Yael shook her head, “like if I turn down the next path I’ll find where the song is coming from. It cannot be the Calling. It must be something else.”

It was ridiculous to give in to the paranoid fear of the Wardens. The entire idea that she was somehow corrupted by the Taint of the Archdemons was laughable. She had fought her fair share of Darkspawn, but she would surely know if she had contracted the Blight from any of her skirmishes. It couldn’t be that. Perhaps the voices simply magnified the sounds of the Fade. The Fade could sing if one listened hard enough. Mages often spoke of hearing the faintest of melodies in the stillness of a dream. That could be it. Cole had even said that the Wardens simply didn’t understand the song. They were listening to two different things! That was all.

Yael tried to block the music from her mind, but only succeeded in giving herself a headache. It wanted to be heard and, oh Creators, but it was too beautiful to shut out. Cullen walked at her side with a hand upon her shoulder. Control, control, she was in control. The voices could show her the way, but she chose the path. Creators, the path. She had to keep to it.

The forest melted from view as she walked. The overgrown pathways became paved and the trees parted to make way as processions of worshipers all came down the path. Bedecked in shimmering robes, Yael followed in their wake. They were elves, equal parts like and unlike herself. They seemed to stand a good head taller than her, and they each bore the vallaslin of her people. In awe, she noticed that they wore the same vallaslin as she did both in its advanced and simple forms. A woman walked at the front of the procession, her black vallaslin standing out in stark contrast to the pale white of her skin. She did not wear the same delicate and shimmering robes as her counterparts did. She was decorated in armor black as the vallaslin on her face. In her arms she held a helmet that mimicked the snarling face of a great High Dragon. Her sword hilt glittered like the stars at her side.

Yael could not help but follow, feeling like an errant child hiding from her Keeper. Vaguely she heard voices behind her calling her name. She wanted to turn to them and tell them to keep quiet. Could they not see? Creators they were wonderous. The elven knight walked with a surety of command that made Yael envious.

Their path led up to the steps of a sprawling temple. Yael knew she had seen it before. The glass tipped spires disappeared through the canopy, but the road leading up to the entrance was opulent. It spilled into a courtyard fit for an army with stone steps leading to the grand doors at the top, silverite of the purest kind, judging from how they reflected the light.

The elven knight broke away from her escort as she mounted the stairs. Those dressed in the shimmering robes took their place on each staircase, one on either side, heads bowing as the knight passed them. She did not look back as she reached the doors. At her approach they opened. It was far too dark to see what lay inside, but the knight never hesitated. She went through and the doors shut behind her with a roaring crash.

“Yael!”

She blinked and doubled back. Where was she? Yael whirled around. She was alone. How had she become separated from the others? “H-h-here!” She shouted, “I’m here!” But where was here?

She was standing in a nest of broken roots, tangled vines and broken stones. Creators have mercy. She sucked in a breath as she saw the sprawling ruins of the temple that had so lately been a beacon of light in the dark forest.

The spires were gone now, cracked and broken with only the stone foundations remaining. The courtyard was a ruin of detritus, leaves and branches, roots upending the grass and the stones. There were no more silverite doors or imposing, stone staircases. What remained of the steps had long ago fallen into disrepair and had sunk into the earth. The doors themselves were gone, cracked at the very hinges. Perhaps stolen by enterprising Tevinter raiders centuries ago? Or lost by means unknown to time. A gaping maw led down into the ruins, into the dark where the ancient elven knight had walked bravely through.

“Cullen!” she called, “Dorian, Bull! Hawke! You have to see this!” Her voice was a triumph. The voices were exultant. Here. It was here. Somewhere deep below in the ruins she could feel a pulsing call. This was the source of it.

Yael could remember her dreams. The ones of the spires and the shaded crowd hovering so near. She could feel them, the Veil so thin she could reach out and clasp hands with her ancient kin. She couldn’t resist skipping, giddy laughter bubbling up as she ran to explore the outer ruins.

The dark entrance remained like a wound and Yael remembered the unnatural wolf that had leapt out from the tunnels to turn its snarling gaze upon her. But here in the light of day there was no wolf, only she.

“Yael?!” her name came again through the trees, panicked, but clearly in an answer to her earlier call. “We’re coming, hold on!”

“Hurry, you have to hurry!” She laughed, Creators she must sound hysterical; she was hysterical.

“Yes, yes, hurry indeed.”

A truly wild looking woman appeared upon the upper stairs, an arrow notched to her bow. The laughter died upon Yael’s lips. She reached a hand up for her staff, but saw the arrow pull back as she did so. “Would hate for your friends to miss this.”

The woman was a shem and Yael felt the urge to burn her on the spot for trespassing on the holy ground of her kin, yet she held back her magic and focused on the arrow aimed for her heart. The archer had a smile that did not reach her eyes. She held her place at the top of the stairs and Yael could tell she was listening in the fashion of a trained ranger. Her leather armor was coated in grime and dust. Unkempt, matted, flaming red hair curled up at the side of her face and tumbled in a thick wave down her shoulders.

“Who are you?” Yael could not help, but ask. Who else would dare be so far from all life save for a mad woman or….a Warden. Through the grime Yael could make out the flash of a metal griffon on the woman’s vambraces.

“No one has asked me who I was in a long time,” the unnatural smile remained plastered on the woman’s face. “You may call me Sabine. Sabine Cousland.”


	19. Chapter 19

Having a run in with the Champion of Kirkwall had been daunting enough, but to come face to face with the legendary Hero of Ferelden herself? Yael was at a loss for words. Between meeting Sabine here and the voices screaming at her to be rid of her and enter the temple, Yael thought her head might split.

“Yael! There you are! Thank the Maker!”

Any further thanks were quickly silenced as her companions took in the sight of their newest tagalong. Weapons were drawn in the blink of an eye, but Yael made no further move to reach her staff. Far from becoming intimidated by such a display, Sabine merely perfected her aim. “Hello,” she said, casually as you pleased. As if she was greeting them in the markets of Denerim and not in the time-forgotten outer yards of an ancient elven temple.

Cullen pulled Yael close to him, his shield raised to cover them both. “There’s no need for that,” Sabine announced, almost with a disappointed huff. She lowered her bow, twirling the arrow between her fingers. “I just wanted to see who you were and what you might do.”

But Cullen kept his shield up; Dorian out and out laughed. “A mad woman? Because that’s just what was missing from our little party.”

“She isn’t mad, she’s The Warden,” Yael pushed Cullen aside.

“Another one?” Hawke’s curled into a low snarl like a mabari hound readying to pounce.

“No. Not a Warden. The Warden. Creators take your eyes, she’s the blasted Hero of Ferelden!”

Weapons jostled as looks were exchanged throughout the party. Sabine remained standing, idly twirling her arrow as she watched them. “I prefer ‘your Majesty.’” If that was a joke it was a poor one. She did not smile and her tone was flat. There was something off in the woman’s eyes, something that made her seem far more distant than she truly was. She finally placed the arrow back into its quiver. “Why are you here?”

“Seems backwards. Don’t you want to ask us who we are first?” Hawke sheathed her own blades. It was a signal to the others. Staves, swords, and shields were retracted, but an uneasy truce had settled over them all.

“No.”

Sabine had her bow strapped onto her back and yet Yael still felt as if a weapon were being trained on her. She watched as the Warden, Hero and Queen of Ferelden, descended the broken staircase with a grace reserved for dragons and their kin. Dorian and Bull parted before her as if they were nothing more than an honor guard in her wake. She walked straight up to Yael, bright eyes boring through her skull. It was as if no one else existed in the world for the Warden. “Why are you here?” she asked again in the same precise tone that made Yael believe she would keep asking and asking with infinite patience until she received an answer.

“There is...too much to explain all at once. Suffice to say, I was summoned here.” And that was the truth wasn’t it? The voices had called her to this place, they had dragged her across half of Thedas to find this ancient spot. It was as good an explanation as any.

“So was I. Or rather, I found this place after long searching. It sings to me, does it not for you as well, Warden?” Sabine’s gaze shifted ever so subtly over to Blackwall.

“I...yes, your Majesty.”

“Yes, it sings, just as you sing. I heard it the moment you came near. The last time I heard such music was nearly ten years ago. But you are no darkspawn, no Archdemon--”

“Tell that to your comrades, they’ve been set on killing me as if I was.”

“Have they?” Sabine tilted her head. “Interesting.”

Yael recalled the stories that spoke of the Warden’s peculiarities, but up until now she had always thought them a bard’s exaggerations. Sabine looked away from Yael, walking back to the steps. “I’ve been searching for a cure for the Calling--”

“Yes, I know. I read your letter.” Yael was tired of the word games if in fact Sabine was playing games. Judging from the startled way she turned about at being interrupted Yael fathomed that she wasn’t being enigmatic by design. The woman blinked in confusion for a moment, regaining her thoughts.

“My letter?”

“My name is Yael Lavellan. Inquisitor of Thedas. These are my allies: Dorian Pavus, The Iron Bull, Cole, Ava Hawke, Warden Blackwall, and Cullen Rutherford. We tried to contact you during the war with Corypheus.”

“Oh, you’re the one who sealed up the breach in the sky?” Sabine appeared delighted, but like a ripple on the face of a still pond, the expression went neutral before long. “Those rifts made travel rather difficult. I should thank you.”

“Yes...well…” and Yael thought she was a poor conversationalist.

“Your Majesty, forgive me, but...why come out here on your own?” Thank the Creators Cullen took point, not that he was any better equipped to handle such situations.

“I work best alone.” Sabine hopped up onto the stairs, making her way back to the mouth of the temple, ending the conversation as she saw fit. She paced at the entrance, utterly fascinated by something in the dark.

Yael exchanged looks with Cullen. Both of them confused by the legend they had just met. So this was the Hero of Ferelden? No one else seemed to quite know what to do, it was as if a whirlwind had blown straight the temple courtyard and left them staring dumbly at the rubble.

“And this is Ferelden’s queen?” Dorian mused with a roll of his eyes. “Maker help you. It’s a wonder no one’s reconquered the whole of the country.”

“I find cultivating an impression of incompetence to my enemies makes for a fascinating court life.”

It wasn’t often Yael got to see Dorian well and truly frazzled, but at the sound of Sabine’s voice the mage nearly jumped clean through his robes. Sabine was looking back at them now, her face still a mask of unnatural calm. “It makes it easier to find out who needs to be eliminated.” She smiled, for the first time it almost appeared genuine, a flash of white teeth in the mouth of a predator before she turned her attention back to the temple entrance.

“I take it back. Maker, she’s terrifying.”

Laughing, Yael took the liberty of meeting Sabine at the top of the stairs. The voices grew louder as she climbed to the entrance and at last she could see what it was the Warden was studying so intently. There was a clear shimmer over the darkened entrance, a warding spell. Yael could feel the magic radiating off it like the heat of a summer sun.

“It’s sealed,” Sabine said, clicking her tongue on the roof of her mouth as she concentrated. “I’ve been camped here for days looking for another way in. No one can get through.” She pressed on the spell, her hand bouncing off of it as if compressing a cushion.

“No shem, you mean,” Yael let the Fade surround her, fluxating her mana with each breath. “This spell is powerful, but it isn’t as old as the rest of the temple.”

She reached out a hand and let her fingertips barely touch the warding. Electricity jolted through her veins as the spellwork connecting with her body. Her Keeper could put similar hexes around the camp when they were near particularly hostile human territories. It held the same function as a tripwire, and while it wasn’t strictly blood magic it did rely on one’s blood to work. A Dalish could pass back forth between the camp without issue, but a human could find themselves up against an invisible wall if the spell was kind., Iif not, there could be all manner of consequences.

“Stand back,” she warned, reaching fully for her mana.

Sabine backed away just as Yael pulled down the spellwork as if removing a drape from a window. She gritted her teeth as the spell disintegrated in her hands. Whoever had left the ward here had not wanted it removed, they had wanted an elf to walk through. Yael ignored the voices telling her to put the wards back, but it was far too late for that now, they fell around her in sparks, glittering glass grains of light falling like snow. Laughing to herself, she dusted her hands down her coat as the entry way cleared.

“I think you’ll find the way open now.”

Yael expected a shout of excitement from Sabine, or at the very least a smile of thanks. Nothing of the sort crossed the woman’s face. She merely walked forward, eyes scanning the darkness as she held out a tentative hand, hissing in something of a triumph as it passed through unobstructed.

“So,” Yael began, “do we--”

But Sabine was already gone, disappearing into the thick dark of the temple, waiting for no one. Yael blew the hair out of her eyes. Creators curse every miserable shem in Thedas. She could feel the voices cursing her just as hard and for once she didn’t disagree. Yael took her staff in hand, shaking it, wreathing the gem at the tip in bright, white flames.

“You don’t honestly mean to take us down into that?” The recoil was tangible in Hawke’s voice.

“Stay out and keep watch if you’d prefer,” Yael had no time to wait anymore. “The rest of you come with me.”


	20. Chapter 20

The darkness inside the temple was so thick it could have been a smothering blanket. It seemed to breathe them in, pulling them down the dank and twisted steps into a netherworld that existed far apart from the one above. Yael felt time congeal around her, dripping with the shadows her lighted staff threw upon the walls.

Such darkness always existed beyond the doors of the temple, but once these halls had been richly adorned with veilfire torches like a bridge between the worlds of the Fade and the mortal realms. Yael could see it unfurl before her eyes. In place of the crumbling stone she could see it holding to its foundations, tapestries of thread so fine it almost looked metallic in the green-white glow of the fire.

The stairs led out into a grand hall, its high arches reaching up. They once pierced through the earth, coiling in tune with the deep roots to let in beams of sunlight on an obelisk. It carried the same smooth black as the obsidian map the Wardens had found on the Exalted Plains, the same one that had been enough to draw the darkspawn to it as well. In the past, the veilfire had set the words glowing so that they could be seen by all. Here in the darkened presence they could not be read.

Yael reached out a hand to smooth it over the ancient stonework, half of the scripture was missing, eroded by age and chipped at by raiders throughout the centuries.

“What must this place have looked like?” Dorian breathed in quiet awe as Yael’s staff lit the way, illuminate the fallen arches and masonry.

“Less dark I imagine,” Bull grunted, walking tentatively and as close as he could to the fire so that he would not strike out at anything.

“No, this place was always dark,” Yael said, eyes watching two stories at once as she looked at her companions and saw the elven knight standing amongst them, black armor blending into the shadows, eyes aglow. Yael followed her movements as she walked to the center of the hall and knelt before the obelisk.

“Yael?” Cullen placed a hand upon her shoulder. It kept her grounded to the present, for she felt at that moment she could slip through the passage of time. “What do you see?”

“A knight,” she said, squinting against the twin fires of her staff and the torches. “An elven knight, kneeling here,” she walked over to the obelisk, bringing her face level with the knights. She could see the details of her vallaslin, it wasn’t simply black curling tattoos, but blue and gray, lining and curling on the outline of her face and filled in with the smallest of strokes where it covered the skin entirely. It was beyond any artistry of the Dalish. Yael touched the markings on her own face. Pride flooded through her for her connection to the warrior out of the past as well as a sorrow for all that the knight must know about their people and all that she herself had lost.

And then the knight began to speak, reciting the words carved into the obelisk. Her voice was as clear as a bell, pealing with a certainty that would make defy any Chantry acolyte. Yael spoke the same words, repeating after her. She did not know why, but the urge to say the words was almost impossible to ignore. She could hear whispers in her mind encouraging her, amplifying her voice until it echoed from the past into the ruined chamber.

_Elgar'nan, Wrath and Thunder,_

_Give us glory._

_Give us victory, over the Earth that shakes our cities._

_Strike the usurpers with your lightning._

_Burn the ground under your gaze._

_Bring Winged Death against those who throw down our work._

_Elgar'nan, help us tame the land._  

No sooner did the final syllable fall from Yael’s mouth than a great rumbling shook the room. “Maker’s mercy, Yael? What did you do?”

But she didn’t know. The light from her staff extinguished as the chamber cracked and heaved like a dying dragon. The image of the knight disappeared from view along with the last of the light, throwing Yael into complete darkness. She could feel someone’s hands upon her, drawing her down as the shaking worsened. Yael could hear the tumble of falling rocks and wondered if the whole chamber would come down around them, but no it wouldn’t. She knew it wouldn’t.

The shaking stopped and for a moment all that could be heard was the rattled breath from her companions. Light flared into blinding life from the torches still decorating the circular chamber walls. Even from her position on the ground, Yael could see that a passageway had opened up through the rock walls that had not been there when they had entered.

“Well that was fascinating.”

Sabine Cousland stood in the center of the chamber, illuminated by the green fire. She seemed undisturbed by the recent events even as the others gathered themselves and rose to their feet.

Cullen relinquished his hold onabout Yael, absentmindedly trailing his fingers down her arms as if to brush unseen dust from her sleeves, but Yael knew he was checking for injuries. “Is everyone alright?” she asked.

A few coughs and some stubborn insistences that they were fine followed by Dorian threatening to wring her neck and Yael was satisfied that no one had suffered any serious injuries, rattled though they were.

“And you,” the annoyance of the voices seemed to have a new favorite target. Yael did not wish to hurt Sabine, but the woman made it impossible not to want to drag her from the temple. She seemed to find this all very amusing., Iif so, she had a truly detestable sense of humor. “Don’t you dare go dashing off again. None of us know what’s down there.”

“But you do,” Sabine was unimpressed by Yael’s blustering. She examined the carvings now illuminated by the fire on the archway of the newly opened chamber. “You spoke all those words in the dark. In Elvish. You know more about this place than anyone here.”

“I assure you it doesn’t work like that,” Yael grunted as she walked over to see exactly what it was that held the Warden’s attention. The knight was gone entirely, she got a flash of her sword echoing down the dark chamber but from there she could not see. The torches died just past the archway and Yael could once again feel the pull of old magic thrumming through her veins.

“But you know where we are, do you not? You know what this place is?”

Yael placed a hand upon the ruined archway, looking upwards until the dark swallowed the stone. “The Temple of Elgar’nan.” The admission was said with a smile. Dust coated her fingers as she brushed aside the years maring many of the carved symbols. “Father of our gods.”

She felt as if she should kneel in supplication just as the knight had done. There were rumored to be many such temples dedicated to the God of Vengeance during the time of Arlathan, but Yael could feel the centuries building in this place. This was the first, the most holy. If she had come here while she was still one of the Dalish she would have bent her knee and prayed every prayer she had stubbornly learned. Her heart sang with the knowledge the voices gave her.

As a child she would play out the stories of the Creators, the ancients would call it blasphemy and they did as she shared the memory, but to a Dalish they were some of the only heroes of lore and legend that were not lost to them. She tried to show them herself as a wilful child, using sticks in place of staves and swords and always she would be Elgar’nan, screaming and destroying with reckless abandon as her friends ran from her. She’d always be stopped by Mythal, and then they would set about rebuilding what was broken, restoring order to the world together.

Together.

Yael brought her dusty fingers to her cheek and realized she was crying. When was the last time she had ever cried?

“You can read this,” Sabine’s uncaring voice filtered through. “What does it say?”

Yael blinked the tears from her eyes and heaved in a breath to steady her voice. The ancient scripture became clear to her as the voices spoke aloud the words running the length of the archway.

“Let those who would punish their enemies first turn their vengeance within.”

“A proverb?” Sabine asked with a measure of quiet disdain.

“A warning.”

“Maker!” Hawke’s shot jolted both women’s attention away from the arch. “Maker the door! The stairs! They’re gone!” The rogue was pressing her hands up against the solid stone wall where moments before there had been a staircase leading up and back to the light.

Yael laughed quietly under her breath. “It’s a dais,” she muttered. “The room, it’s on a dais. It must have rotated when I spoke out the incantation.”

Hawke screamed in frustration, kicking the wall with a booted foot, hands frantically rubbing at her hair as if to draw the anger from her body. Sabine blinked down at Yael in the fire light, unconcerned with Hawke’s display. Yael doubted she was concerned about anything. “Well then, looks like we have only one way to go.”

“It would appear so.”

Light bloomed once again on the tip of Yael’s staff. “Everyone stay close. We don’t know what we will encounter. In every temple dedicated to our gods one must first pass a test to prove themselves worthy of receiving aid. Mythal had a series of tests, and the tombs of Dirtha’men were littered with traps to dissuade unworthy supplicants.”

“And Elgar’nan will be no different?” Sabine asked.

“Elgar’nan is our god of Vengeance,” Yael almost chuckled, “I don’t expect tests so much as I expect an army. Only the bravest would seek Elgar’nan’s blessing, or the truly desperate.”

They stepped through the shadows and immediately the light from Yael’s staff diminished until it sputtered out. Yael tried to summon the light again to no avail, failing that she tried to conjure up the images of the past. She could feel them coalesce around her, but even at the height of the temple’s power it appeared that this path was always black as pitch.

“This…” she grumbled, “this will make things difficult.” She could see only so well in the dark, and even then she usually had the stars or the moon to guide herself. This was an empty dark, even the voices had no advice to give.

“The song is louder here, can you hear it?” Sabine said, undisturbed by her surroundings. “Maker, I bet this leads us to the heart of the temple.”

The song was louder. Yael could feel it pulling her forward with a compulsion she could not fight, but she said nothing. It wasn’t the Calling. She was not blighted and she would not entertain such worries now. She focused on counting paces. Ten steps and then twenty, twenty and then thirty and further away they went from the dais and into what could only be described as the Void itself.

The ground shook beneath their feet once more, rolling through like a wave across a storm-tossed sea. “Maker, not again!” Yael heard someone cry out.

She tried to hold her ground, but the shakes were far more severe. Yael felt the world tip over onto its side as she lost her balance and fell hard upon the ground. She was sliding, she realized, after a moment too late. She tried to scramble for purchase while still maintaining her grip upon her staff. She could hear the others gasping and Hawke’s snarl of defiant frustration.

But she was falling too far and too fast. “No!” She cried out. She was falling, plummeting straight down. In the darkness it was impossible to tell which way was up or down. Yael went tumbling head over heels, hitting the stone floor with a grunt of pain as the world slowly stopped shaking.

She was curled up in the fetal position, breathing hard and covering her head and neck, staff still in hand. Creators, she had felt earthshakes before but never quite like that, and never in such violent succession. Those could not have been natural. Slowly, Yael uncoiled herself, raising her head from out of the protection of her arms. There were torches on the walls and she found herself needing to blink rapidly to adjust to the sudden light. Red and white spots danced behind her eyelids. With a thin groan, she rose to her feet.

The room was square, small, and bright in comparison to the abyss she had crawled through. “Cullen!” she shouted, waiting, hoping for a reply. “Hawke! Dorian!”

Nothing. Her voice barely reverberated in the enclosed room.

She was alone.


	21. Chapter 21

Yael tried to get her bearings. The small square room she had landed in emptied out through a dimly lit corridor. Torches burned in slots all along the wall, she could feel the magic that hid lit the fires. In the light she could see the sloping curve of the wall; so the corridors were circular? She walked with a quiet step, staff at the ready. The hallway never deviated, never forked, and she could feel herself walking in a downward spiral.  
  
 She wanted to call out to her companions and see if they heard her, but she dared not. She was alone and knew nothing of what could be waiting for her further down the temple passage. Maybe the others were still together? It was possible she had been the only one to slip in the chaos. But if she had, then was she even supposed to be here? She could be in the underbelly of the temple, lost. No, no she must be on the right path. The melody in her head had become sweet, as gentle as a hand caressing her face. She was closer than before. Closer to what, she didn’t know, but Yael could feel whatever it was calling for her.  
  
Was it truly nothing but endless miles of stone and darkness? Yael could see no end to the passageway, but surely there must be a corridor to turn down eventually. It could have been hours since she had started walking. Time stretched and coiled down here and Yael could not tell how long a second was from a day. She could not very well go walking right into the heart of the earth. No, there was a way out. There was always a way out. She simply had to concentrate. Elgar’nan would not make his supplicants walk an easy path to reach him.  
  
She drew from this fact and found a meager scrap of confidence within. Yael thought of the ancient knight, and how she had walked into the temple with no fear like she knew what had awaited her. A test, perhaps? To prove her worth as a warrior and as an acolyte of their god? Yael clutched tightly to the grip of her staff. Her step changed its pace as she stalked the halls, stirring up faint gusts of wind that batted at the feeble torchlight. She would not call out for Elgar’nan’s aid. Not here. He would expect a lost Dalish to resort to prayers for guidance, someone who mimicked the old ways, but could not heed them. Well, she was no lost child. She was the Inquisitor. She was the Harbinger. And she would find her own way out and prove to her god that the children of Arlathan were still alive and still remembered the ancient ways.  
  
Steeling her breath, Yael made her mind a blank, walking with purpose but clarity. Her mana was so close to hand it was as if she was trailing the Fade as she would water on a lake, the silkiness of it tingled at the tips of her fingers in a comforting, familiar buzz of power.  
  
“Blessed are they who stand before the corrupt and wicked and do not falter…”  
  
The words came drifting through the hall, dissonant with the music in Yael’s head. Creators, that was Cullen’s voice! Immediately Yael began to run.  
  
“Spare me the false words from your Maker!”  Came a distinctly familiar voice. Her voice. But that was impossible!  
  
Yael skidded to a halt as she found herself thrown rather suddenly into a tower foyer by a narrow staircase. The smell of blood and ichor stung her senses and sent her staggering back. Pustules of flesh and bloated carcasses surrounded her at every turn. Strings of what had once been people hung on the walls, pulsing masses of muscle and bone and transfigurations gone horribly wrong.  
  
A barrier, glowing brightly in the surrounding gore, held formation by the staircase. It was surrounded by Abominations and demons. And at the center, trapped behind the shimmering prison walls was Cullen, kneeling beside the bodies of torn- apart Templars and mages. His hands were clasped in prayer, hiding his face, and he rocked steadily on his heels in that steady motion his body clung to for comfort, as she had seen him so often do when he emerged from his nightmares.  
  
Sickening rage flooded through the whole of Yael’s body. “Get away,” she spat, barely able to get the words past the fury stopping up her throat. “Get away from him.”  
  
The demons fixed their gaze on her, talons itching at their sides, a low growl of curiosity echoing through the chamber. But a mage controlled them for now. A mage clad in Yael’s exact Dalish armor, a mage with Yael’s face. Yael felt the fire in her sputter out as she came face to face with herself.  
  
“Why so concerned?” she asked herself. The double of her tapped her staff upon the stone. “He’s only a shem.”  
  
“Whatever you are, demon,” Yael snarled, ignoring the sound of her voice spoken back to her, the sight of her own form standing, curious as to what she would do, in the middle of the room. “You will die.”  
  
“And undo all our hard work? I think not. Isn’t this what we wanted?” The creature with her face smiled convincingly, gesturing wide with outstretched arms. “The shemlens burned in their homes, their cities crumbled into the dust as they did to ours so long ago. We made them pay for every Dalish massacre, for every alienage eliminated, we brought the harbinger of their doom. We are Arlathan rising.”  
  
“N-n-no,” Yael backed away. She could see it, all of it, in her mind. The burning of the fields of Orlais and the destruction of Tevinter. Elven armies thousands strong, with her at the head, the Herald of Mythal, bringing the justice of the Elvhen to the humans of Thedas once and for all. Her heart sang in her breast at the sounds of victory screaming in her ear. “No!” She broke free from the demon’s spell. It crumbled to ash in her mouth, choking on her own defiance.  
  
“No?” Her double seemed surprised. “All our work. All we’ve ever wanted and you would throw it away for the sake of this shem?”  
  
Cullen continued to pray, his words forming a shield about him. He did not raise his head to look at her, at them. Yael heard his voice hitch with sobs. “He is more than that. He always was, or do you not remember?” She stepped forward, trying not to listen to Cullen’s cries. If she faltered now she would be lost.  
  
Her double took a step back, face softening, looking more like herself. And for just a moment Yael wondered if that was how she looked more often than not. The elven mage appeared terrified, wide green-eyes confused and searching for guidance. She seemed to scream for help without saying a word. The look was gone as soon as it came, replaced by a mask of fury.  
  
“Let him go,” Yael raised her staff. Somewhere she told herself this was not real. This was an illusion designed to test her. But Cullen looked real. Creators, his pitiful prayers tore into her like knives. What did it matter if it was an illusion? She had to make it stop. This version of her, this twisted thing that stood over his prison, sneering with delight was not her. Could not be her. Would never be her.  
  
The double with her face pounded her fist against the barrier, charging it with magic. Whatever spell she cast made her smile as Cullen screamed, dropping his hands to the floor as he fought for breath.  
  
Rushing forward Yael shoved her double out of the way just as the barrier finally came down. She could hear her double start to laugh as the air was knocked out of Yael’s lungs. Cullen had charged at her the moment he realized he was free. Yael’s staff spun out of her hands at the impact. She hit the floor only to find herself pinned down by the much larger man.  
  
“Cullen?!”  
  
He grabbed her by the throat and slammed her head against the stone. Stars exploded in Yael’s vision as she grappled with his arms, trying to pry them off her. “Cullen, stop!”  
  
“You think you can use the same tricks on me?” His voice was desperate as he shook her. “Make me think you were in danger only to imprison me? Why?! Tell me why?”  
  
Yael pulled on her magic and forced Cullen back. She scrambled to her feet, shaking her head to clear her vision. Her staff was lying against the bloody wall, but if she lunged for it he’d catch her and he could pin her down again. Yael wasn’t certain she would be able to rise if he did so. Over his shoulder she could see her double watching with interest.  
  
Cullen tried to grab her again, but Yael held him off with a wall of force. She just needed to keep him back long enough so that she could think.  
  
“Maker, I trusted you,” there were tears pouring down his face. Yael shut her eyes to it. None of this was real. None of it. “Why would you do this?”  
  
“It wasn’t me,” Yael begged for the illusion to understand. “Cullen, none of this was me. Please…”  
  
“I believed that lie once before. I will not make the same mistake again.” He drew his sword.  
  
“Oh Creators, Cullen please don’t make me hurt you.” Not again. She couldn’t do it again.  
  
His laughter was bitter. “What else could you possibly do to me? I see you for what you’ve become. Abomination.”  
  
Yael dodged his initial strike, sidestepping the arc of his swing and tucking into a roll as he countered. Springing off with her heels against the wall she gave herself just enough momentum to slide out and grab her staff, crouching down she raised it up just as Cullen brought his sword down. A barrier of light shielded her from the blow.  
  
“I am not the Abomination.” If Yael could only just get him to see that he was fighting the wrong person, maybe there was still a chance she could save him. “She is!” She pointed with her staff to her double standing by the stairs, silent, and watchful.  
  
“The only demon I see here is you,” Cullen roared out as he brought the sword down again and again, chipping away at the thin shield Yael had cast.  
  
“You see how he is,” her double spoke, moving from the stairs to kneel alongside Yael. “Rabid as all shemlen are in the end.”  
  
But Cullen could not see the true culprit in his rage. He was staring right at her. Right at them both and seeing through her. “Kill him,” her double whispered. “You want to. You nearly did once before.”  
  
Yael thought back to that night when Elaiwny had been crying and the voices had been screaming in her head. The fire that had leapt from her fingers to lash against Cullen’s unprotected body. But that hadn’t been her! Yet she remembered the doubt. The double frames of her memory of her pride and her fear.  
  
With a burst of energy she blasted Cullen back, forcing him off his feet, landing backwards onto the stone floor. Yael whirled around to face her double, all the fury that she felt mirrored perfectly in her face. Reaching for her spectral blade she ran herself through. Watching as the fury turned to disbelief and then to betrayal. Yael stood over herself as she watched her sink to the floor. “I will never become you.” She felt her own hands grapple with her arm, and pain blossomed in Yael’s gut as she withdrew the blade, sinking to the floor as her double disappeared entirely, melting away along with the demons surrounding her. The staircase and gore-filled room faded like a nightmare until Yael was sitting in the same curved, torch-lit hall, quiet save for the sound of her tortured breath.  
  
“Maker--Maker what’s happening?”  
  
No, that was impossible, he couldn’t still be here. Yael turned her head to see Cullen sitting up from where he had fallen, looking around at the changed hallway, hands pushing back his hair, tugging at his face. But he shouldn’t be here. He should have faded with the other illusions.  
  
“You!” His eyes went wide when he saw her. “Get away!”  
  
Creators, there was no way that this was truly him? Yael let herself be knocked back; the cold pressure of iron at her throat as Cullen brought his sword to bear against her skin. Somehow she found she couldn’t move, couldn’t struggle. The look in his eyes stabbed deeper than a blade ever could. They looked at her and saw a monster.  
  
They were at an impasse. Cullen glaring death at her and Yael unable to move. She could feel his breath against her skin and the tremors racing through his hands. The blade shook, nicking her skin, blood dripping down her neck. Cullen blinked, noticing the blood, the anger cooling in his eyes, changing to horror. A whimper left him and he threw his blade down. “Yael?” his voice was hoarse.

Yael could barely lift her arms, but she had to. She had to know. His skin was warm where her hand touched his cheek. Cullen covered her hand, tentatively, pressing it closer still, fingers feeling for the steady beat of her pulse at her wrist. “Are you real?” Yael asked.  
  
“Are you?”  
  
“I think so.”  
  
She felt herself hauled upright as Cullen bundled her into his arms. He was still shaking when he buried his head against the crook of her neck and shoulder. Apologies stuttered from his lips. Yael placed her own arms about his shoulders, it was hard to hold him with the bulk of his armor preventing her from bringing him in close, but she let her fingers snake through his hair, let him kiss the line of her jaw in sweet, furtive movements.  
  
“It was a test,” she said, repeating it over and over like a mantra. “A test to prove our worth.”  
  
“And did we?”  
  
“I...Creators, I don’t know…”  
  
Cullen wiped away the thin line of blood at the nape of Yael’s neck. She felt disoriented. The double of her still leering down in her mind, grinning as she--as they--tormented Cullen, as she taunted herself with a nightmare vision of the dreams she had carried with her as a child. That hadn’t been what she had meant. When had she gone from wanting to rebuild the world to burning it down?  
  
The music was back as the chaos settled, louder like a promise. She felt ill. She didn’t care what was down in the Temple. Creators, she didn’t care anymore! The voices did not approve of that. She did care, she must. Her head throbbed with more than just the force of the knock to the back of her skull. She had a duty to perform as a servant of Mythal and she would obey, she must obey. Yael felt draw outside of herself at the very idea that she had even briefly thought of refusing.  
  
Yael drew in a rattling breath and began to sob. 


	22. Chapter 22

Yael couldn’t remember the last time she had cried, let alone cried in the sight of another. Shame bubbled up, hot and thick as pitch, almost as fast as her tears. She tried to keep it quiet, choking, gasping out in small breaths as she buried her head in the nape of Cullen’s neck.   
  
Everything fell down upon her at once. The exhaustion, the pain, the constant control she must exert upon herself every waking moment--she wanted to scream, to strike out against something, anything. Her fist came into contact with the metal of Cullen’s chestplate and an involuntary whimper left her as her fingers uncurled, splayed flat against the armor, rubbing out the imaginary dent she had made.   
  
Cullen held fast to her, not saying a word. She could hear his own tears, feel them as they fell against her cheek. What a sight they must be. The Inquisitor and the Commander, broken and weak. Yael hated them both in that moment. She squeezed her eyes shut as Cullen began to rock them both back and forth in that familiar way. They might as well have been back at Skyhold, save for the fact the nightmare pressed down on them both still. Cullen had nothing to offer her and Yael found she had nothing in return.   
  
He thought of her as an Abomination? That was the truth of it, wasn’t it? He saw what she was becoming and recognized it for what it was. How many mages had he seen go mad in a similar way? Listening to voices beyond them, dealing with forces that should never be tampered with and she had made deals with the gods themselves thinking she could be considered their equal. And the sum total of all her accomplishments had been to destroy everything she had come to cherish.   
  
“Ma’vhenan?” The word was hollow on her tongue, a reminder of something lost. Cullen was a leaden weight in her arms. They held one another like anchors, afraid of drifting out apart. Images of a double life echoed before her. There was the Yael who promised to be better, to be kinder. The Yael who set aside the worries of her Dalish upbringing for a life with a shem. It was something simple, rare and fine for a while. While the whole world seemed lost she had found a way to live past vengeance, past the constant anger that had existed within her long before the voices had amplified it. She supposed there could have been a Yael who turned away from the Well, who let the voices of her past die. She might even have been happy, winning the war, reveling in peace and learning how to build a life with another. She mourned that poor fool who never was.  
  
“Maker, what have we done?”  
  
Cullen’s hands cupped either side of her face, his eyes searching hers. When he kissed her it tasted of defeat. I’m sorry, she wished she could say as if it was a spell that would alter something that had suddenly become so fixed. I’m sorry. I love you. She wanted to press the words against him, brand them on his lips, not that any of it would matter now. Yael thought back to the day after they had first confessed their feelings for one another. It had been a day of many firsts: first kisses, first rare glimmers of affection beyond friendship, the first feeling of her heart no longer being within but held in the form of another, and first doubts. Even then, always doubting. She had gone into his quarters and tried to break it off.   
  
One day I may be forced to choose between you and my people, and I don’t want to!  
  
But she had been choosing, she had been choosing every step of the way and love did not matter in some regards. Love could be an obstacle--somehow Yael had always known it would be. And here was the price, the man she loved, hurt by her own hands, as he would continue to be if they remained.   
  
“We should find the others.” Her tear-stained voice sounded foreign in her ears.   
  
“Yes,” he spoke against her skin. “Of course.”  
  
They helped one another to their feet, arms still locked about one another, unable to let go. Yael felt Cullen mouth out how much he loved her as he kissed the side of her head. “Whatever is waiting for you down there,” he whispered as they limped down the hallway, “I will not let it have you.”  
  
It was a promise as much as it was a warning.   
  
“Ma’vhenan,” she was done assuaging fears. She was done with lies. “I believe whatever it is, it’s already claimed me.”  
  


* * *

  
  
How much deeper down did they go? It was almost like walking in an endless circle. Looping ever downward. Hysterically, Yael wondered if they were already dead. Perhaps this was the oft-spoken of Void and instead of a vast expanse of nothing they were doomed to room these halls forever, fighting back terrors that sought to usurp their sanity for all time.   
  
Cullen still walked with an arm draped over Yael’s shoulder as she had her hers wrapped about his waist. She knew she had to let go, but Creators, she wasn’t ready.   
  
“When we get out of here, back to Skyhold, I say we find a day for just us. No Orlesian nobles, no assassins, no ancient elven gods.”  
  
He sounded so sullen Yael couldn’t help the gust of laughter that shook her. “You left out the bit about the darkspawn.”  
  
“And no darkspawn, that’s an absolute given.”  
  
“Is that a request from you, ma’vhenan or an order from my Commander?”  
  
“I’ll be filing a formal motion to put before Josephine. No work for the Inquisitor. For at least a day. Under pain of death.”  
  
It wasn’t like Cullen to focus on what ifs and wild hopes. He was like her in that regard. They both saw problems for what they were, they tackled them and moved on to the next, catching quick moments of peace when they could, but never losing sight of the realities. Yael realized with a slight pain that this was for her benefit. She raised herself up and kissed his cheek. “Enough, Cullen.”  
  
“I...I was only trying to…”  
  
“I know, ma’vhenan. I know.”  
  
They walked on in silence and Yael found she could slowly unwind from about Cullen. Maybe there would still be days ahead of them to be half so foolish? No, that was over and past. Her thoughts spun out and away from her at the same speed as she walked further and further apart from Cullen.   
  
Then it happened. The stone wall split asunder and a mighty roar made both Yael and Cullen, drop to their knees, draw their weapons, and shield their eyes from the blast of rock and mortar. What could it be? Another demon? Illusion? She heard coughing as the dust cleared and saw to her grateful and wild surprise that it was Iron Bull.   
  
“Maker’s breath, Bull, you could have killed us!” Cullen coughed, sheathing his blade. “But I don’t think I’ve ever been so pleased to see you in all my life.”  
  
“Cullen? Yael?” Laughing, Bull clapped the two of them on the back nearly sending them both to their knees once more. “Knew the damn demons weren’t real! Don’t think they ever expected someone to walk right through their trap.”  
  
Bull had charged straight the stonework and through the rubble Yael could see a clear path across to a second set of chambers. “That’s it,” Yael whispered to herself. “Bull, you genius.”  
  
“Thank you, boss. I’m aware.”  
  
Charging mana into her hands Yael sent a blast of force magic through the hole Bull had created and into the wall on the other side, busting apart the stoneworking and leading further in. “Come on!" Yael shouted, gesturing for them to follow.  
  
They stepped over the twin sets of rubble. The halls were identical, but Yael could see them for what they were now, separate circular chambers orbiting around the other in an ever widening spiral.   
  
“Do you know where the others are?” Bull asked, practically shouting over the explosions Yael was creating to break through the walls.  
  
“No,” Cullen answered. “Up until now we had no idea that the rest of you had been separated.”  
  
“Any idea what this place is? I walked through and got jumped by demons.”  
  
“It’s a testing ground,” Yael grunted. “The warning at the entrance? ‘Let those who would punish their enemies first turn their vengeance within.’ It’s ourselves. We’re fighting what we hate.”  
  
“And what’s that that were doing now, then?”  
  
“Cheating!”  
  
Yael stopped abruptly as the last of the walls crumbled to shrapnel. In place of another hall she found herself facing the void again. She skidded to a halt before she could fall. Unfortunately, the others did not stop in time. With a small note of panic, she fell into darkness. The fall was short lived as they almost immediately hit solid ground.   
  
“Did you hear something?”   
  
“Yes, do you think it’s the others?”  
  
Steadying herself, Yael rose to her feet, tapping light back into her staff. Cullen groaned and struggled to stand while Iron Bull shook dust from his horns. Extending the light, Yael could see a similar one reflecting back at her. With a smile, Yael saw Dorian walking towards them, fearful and unsure, but miraculously him. She nearly threw herself into her friend’s arms.   
  
“Andraste’s tits, where did you come from?!”   
  
Yael laughed, relief and exhaustion coursing through her. She wasn’t certain what to feel. “We decided to drop in.”  
  
“Well I’ll throw you back out if you make any more jokes of that caliber,” Dorian sniffed.   
  
Yael could see the others gathering behind him, Blackwall, Cole, and Hawke. Blackwall looked as if he had seen a ghost, and Cole appeared more or less undisturbed, while Hawke’s faced showed tear-stained in the glow-light, red, and with her cropped hair plastered to her face with sweat.   
  
“How did you get out?” Yael asked.  
  
“Maker, I was going to ask you the very same question. We don’t know. We were all on our own before. There were...well...I’m sure you know,” Dorian cleared his throat, clearly unwilling to talk about what it was he had witnessed in the testing chambers. “No sooner had the world set itself to right then I found myself falling down here. Wherever here is.”  
  
“Of course, once you show yourself to be worthy there must be a mechanism that sends you out of the rooms.” What did it say then, that she and Cullen and Iron Bull had not emerged naturally into the darkened chamber? Yael’s face flushed with shame. She had failed her own god’s test.   
  
She took stock of their numbers again. One among them was missing. “Where is Sabine?”  
  
They exchanged looks, but Cole was the one who provided an answer.   
  
“Darker than the void, I have to be darker than the abyss. Can’t see the monster for the Warden. There,” he pointed down the opposite end in the sea of blackness. “There’s another door. She’s already inside. She didn’t have to pass a test. There are no demons to fight when one thinks they already are one.”  
  
Yael let Cole lead the way. The spirit did need light to find their way in this mire and Yael was more than happy to let someone take point. The little antechamber spilled out into a grand foyer.  
  
“Oh,” Yael heard Dorian gasp behind her. “Maker have mercy…”  
  
Darkness had given way to an otherworldly light. They were not as far down deep into the earth as Yael had imagined. The trunk of a large and ancient tree grew from the center of the room, spiraling up and outwards through the ceiling, spilling tendrils of sunlight into the basin. Radiant jewels picked up the light along the walls and cast shadows of red, gold, and silver. The roots of the tree sprung up in what appeared to have at one time been a fountain of clear water, but the spring lay unattended to, still filled with water, but littered with leaves and falling stone from the broken ceiling.   
  
Upon a platform above the pool, wreathed in shadow loomed an eluvian, dormant and silent, a reminder of the power that once commanded this temple.  
  
And there, sheathed in light upon a raised dais, was a sword of immaculate beauty. It appeared one only had to climb the steps to the dais and claim it, but Yael knew it was not so. The music was at its loudest here. It hummed and burned away all the past hurts, leaving her only with one thought: reach the sword.   
  
Everything, every scrap of will in her life yearned for her to go and take the weapon. She recognized it as the blade the elven knight had worn at her side when she entered the temple. And there, marching up the steps with an outstretched hand was Sabine Cousland.   
  
Before Yael could raise her staff to summon a spell and knock her off the dais a secondary rush of magic spiraled overhead to launch into Sabine’s body. She could hear the woman screech, more out of frustration than pain, and fall backwards into the pool.   
  
“That sword is not yours to take, I’m afraid.”  
  
Yael knew the voice. But it had never called to her in the way it did now, making her blood ripple in her veins--forcing a sense of reverence. Yael watched him emerge from behind the trunk of the great tree, somehow knowing who it would be before seeing. The elven mage looked different than he had before, clearer, as if all that time she had only been looking at him through rusted glass and now, now she could truly see him.   
  
He had created a platform of air and light to walk across the pond, staff hitting the construct and pinging like a chime in the wind. He had always carried himself as something more than just a Dalish mage. His face was devoid of vallaslin, setting him apart from his kin, but Yael knew he was not a city elf. She never could get a straight answer from him on where he had come from.   
  
“Solas,” she called out, no longer surprised to find him here. She felt strangely calm as if she had anticipated this meeting, it felt as inevitable as the setting sun. He smiled as he took note of her.   
  
“Hello, lethallan.”  
  
She wanted to ask what he was doing here. Why he had left a year ago without explanation leaving her bereft of a clanmate once again. She felt she should be angry, that she should scream or set the air on fire. But no rage would come forth. She smoldered like a dampened wick.  
  
“A rather unorthodox way to approach the sanctum,” Solas tilted his head, “but then again you always were full of surprises.”  
  
“How did you know I’d come?”  
  
And here the smile faded from his face. There was something sorrowful behind his eyes. “Because, lethallan, I summoned you.”


	23. Chapter 23

He summoned her?   
  
A thousand questions burst inside Yael’s brain. How could he have summoned her? He had no command over her, no control, and he had been gone from the Inquisition for months. It could not have been him. She searched the voices, asking them, seeking their guidance. She could feel a thread of power, power of nature she had only encountered once when she had stepped through the eluvian and stood in Flemeth’s presence for the first time.   
  
The voices told her answers she already knew.   
  
“But...how?”   
  
“You came as you were bidden,” Solas crossed the light bridge to stand on the same side of the platform around the pool as Yael was. “As you would have always come.”  
  
“I’ve had enough of these riddles,” Hawke snapped. “Either he tells us what we’re doing here or I gut him.”  
  
“That would be impressive.”  
  
Hawke sprang forward, past the point of patience. Yael choked back a startled cry of alarm as a barrier spell sprang up between Solas and the knife Hawke had thrown. It took Yael a moment to realize she had been the one who had cast it. Yellow energy crackled around her wrists like shackles as she held the spell, only releasing when Solas waved a hand. It had been a similar spell when Flemeth had forced her to stop Morrigan from reaching her son. The involuntary reaction, the calculated step forward.   
  
Yael dropped her staff and fell to her knees as Solas released her.   
  
“What did you do to her?!” That was Cullen’s outraged cry. He had seen her overwhelmed too much of late. And their recent foray into one another’s nightmares had not helped matters.   
  
“I told you.” Solas knelt beside her--again that look of sorrow behind his eyes. “I told you, lethallan, you should not have drunk from the Well.”  
  
He had. He had warned her when they went into the Temple together that such magic came with a price, a price that she should not have to pay. But she, heedless and stubborn as she was, would not hear of such things preventing her from reclaiming her heritage. Solas had raged against her when they had returned from Skyhold. Yael hung her head. She should have listened.   
“Could someone please explain to me what is going on?” There was Dorian, ever the voice of surprising reason in the crowd.   
  
Yael let Solas help her up. The voices, the turmoil in her head, falling silent at the touch of his hand upon her shoulder. The cacophony muted to a reverent hum that filled her being with a restless awe. A part of her wanted to remain on her knees, penitent. The other part wished to wrench free from Solas’ grip and bring her staff down upon him with such violent promises Yael was sick at the thought.   
  
“He led us here,” she recited as if she had known this all along. “He told me where I needed to go. I could not ignore Mythal’s calling.”  
  
“Mythal? You mean to tell me Solas has been Mythal this entire time?” Dorian sounded almost insulted by such insinuations. Yael tried to remember what patience felt like, but it was so easy to turn on him and accuse him of being an ignorant shem. She blinked at the distressed look on Dorian’s face and realized that she must have said the words aloud without knowing.   
  
“I hold a piece of her,” Solas explained. “A wisp. That is all.”  
  
Enough to control her, thought Yael, enough to reach inside her mind and unmake her in an image that suited his needs. She couldn’t bring herself to ask what had happened to Flemeth or how he stole the piece of Mythal. Something in her did not want to know. The Creators always had their feuds.   
  
“Is that what calls out to us?”   
  
Sabine had emerged from the pool. Dark water dripped from her red hair and leather armor. She held a dagger in her hand, but almost lazily, no threat behind her stance, the same neutral, curious expression on her face. “I can hear it. It’s faint, but the pull is the same. I lived through the last Blight, I remember the tune.”  
  
“Young Warden, you are far from home.”  
  
“So are you.”  
  
Sabine adjusted her grip on the dagger and stepped forward. Yael slammed her staff into the ground as a warning. “Not to worry,” Sabine seemed offended that Yael had misconstrued her gait as threatening. “No Warden has ever had the chance to speak with an Old God face to face. I would not squander that.”  
  
Dorian snorted, loudly. “Old God? Maker, if Solas is a dragon now I’m leaving. For good.”  
  
“Speaking of leaving, how do we get out?” Iron Bull asked. “The way shut behind us and we had to bust down the walls just to get here.”  
  
“The eluvian will provide the way for Yael and I, but I am not certain how you will get out. I had not intended for you to be here.”  
  
There was a callousness in Solas’ voice that did not match him. True, he had always been aloof when it came to matters beyond the Fade or the history of the Elvhen, but Yael had never heard such complete disregard.   
  
“You cannot intend for me to leave them here?”  
  
She felt insane. Utterly hysterical arguing logistics with a god. “No, you would not,” Solas replied. And Yael was grateful. He could have ordered her to do so and she would have had no choice but to obey. A thin shudder ran through her blood. She would turn her back on her friends, on her love, at the barest notion of the god she had once idolized. “But the choice remains. I brought you here for a purpose, lethallan.” He gestured to the dais and the sword.   
  
Again Yael felt the hunger to claim the ancient weapon, the same hunger, she realized with a pang that she had felt upon staring down into the still waters of the Well of Sorrows.   
  
“The sword was forged for the greatest of Elgar’nan’s acolytes,” Solas said. “And as such can only be wielded by them.”  
  
“And you need me to claim it…”  
  
A sword of Elgar’nan? A blade wielded in his name. She imagined herself with it, raising it high against the armies of man and tearing them in two, cutting swathes through whole legions. Yael had not realized she had been leaning out until Cullen placed a hand upon her to steady her and the victory turned to ash in her mouth. The armies changed to bloody corpses with familiar faces and the hunger turned to a cramping gnaw in the pit of her stomach.   
  
“What is the price?”  
  
“A sword demands blood. The price is the lives you are willing to take to earn it.”  
  
“That’s all?” Yael very nearly laughed. “We should have come to this temple in the first place instead of yours. But why have me take it? What could I do with a sword that I could not do with my staff?”  
  
“You are the only one amongst us who is already an acolyte.” Yael touched her vallaslin as Solas spoke, “As for why, Yael, you know that answer.”  
She did. The voices had shown it to her every night since she had drank from the Well. Arlathan. How many nights had she dreamt as a child to bring back the old city, to bring back the empire of old when the land had been theirs. In her heart burned the fire of those old dreams and the rage when such prayers had gone unanswered.   
  
“I am that answer, lethallan,” Solas said and Yael did not know if he could hear the thoughts and the voices in her head. “This world should never have come to be. Together you and I might right the mistakes of the past. Is that not what our people need?”  
  
Mythal had reached out through the years and touched her mind.   
  
The Goddess of Justice and Protection had seen her and judged her worthy to be the light for her people.   
  
Was she crying again? Yael couldn’t be sure. The voices howled to a keening pitch in her mind, brazen as a wolf pack. Her every instinct was to join the song. Mythal was back amongst the people and finally their centuries of injustice could end.   
  
“We could remake the world,” Yael whispered.   
  
“Listen to yourselves. Remake the world? Right the mistakes of the past?” Yael turned about to face Cullen’s wrath. His face was twisted. Anger and disappointment equally mixed with fear. “You sound like Corypheus.”  
  
“I am nothing like Corypheus!” Yael shouted, the voices rising to a fever pitch.   
  
“If Solas is one of them, one of the Old Gods, then this compulsion binds you to him. Who is to say if he is corrupted already and what that means for you.”  
  
“I am not. Corrupted that is,” Solas’ voice was as steady as ever. He stood beside Yael pulling her away from Cullen ever so gently. “Not yet.”  
  
“If the sword can help remake the world who is to say it is your world it creates?” Sabine’s question was posed philosophically, but there was cunning behind her bright gaze. “A Warden could take it and end the Blight.” She stared upwards at the store, glowing on its pedestal.   
  
Somehow Yael knew what the Warden’s next move would be before she made it. “No!” Sabine ran from the platform and back to the steps up to the dais. Yael tore off after her to the accompanying dismayed cries from her companions.   
  
The rogue was fast, but Yael had the wrath of a god on her side. A psychic blast of magic tore Sabine free of her footing, sending her careening into the pool of water once again. But Sabine had dueled with mages before, she righted herself, drawing her twin daggers. “Stand down, Inquisitor.”  
  
It was something Yael might have said to intimidate. “You have no claim to that sword, shem.”  
  
“You wish to use it to bring back that past. What good is the past if we have no future?”  
  
There was no future. Not for her or her kind. Not anymore. The thought struck Yael all at once and she found herself floundering in mid-step. Sabine did not wait. The rogue did not seem keen to fight so much as she did to attack. Yael barely had time to dodge her first manic strike. She did not give Yael time to breathe or assess the battle. Sabine swiped out with one dagger and plunged in with the other. She was vicious, brutal, and Yael could feel the raw power in the arc of her swings. It was the style of a woman who had battled monster’s all her life and took no prisoners.   
  
It was difficult to get a fix on her. Yael spewed fire from her fingertips, but the rogue moved too fast to be a target. She saw Sabine go after her with a running leap only to crash into an ice wall that reared up between them. Yael turned to see her companions at her side, each with a weapon drawn.   
  
Sabine seemed to weigh her options, her grip on her daggers shifting as she assessed how outnumbered she truly was. She turned and ran back for the dais, forgetting the fight, relying only on desperation and speed.   
  
Growling with frustration Yael pursued. Lunging forward, Yael tackled Sabine at the base of the staircase, splashing in the shallow waters. Yael grabbed the rogue by the head and held her under the water. She could feel her clawing at her hands, spluttered and bucking up for air.   
  
Yael never saw the knife appear in Sabine’s hands, but she felt its bitter kiss as it scrawled across her face in Sabine’s blind attempts to free herself. Blood poured down Yael’s face, panicking her only for a moment as some dripped into her eye. Snarling like an animal, Yael kicked Sabine down, spitting blood and ignoring the stinging line of fire the trailed from her cheek to the bridge of her nose.   
  
She climbed the stairs on all fours, tripping over herself, panting. She needed the sword, needed it in her hands. She could feel the demand of Mythal mirroring her own. Take the sword, awaken what was lost, restore Arlathan, restore the whole of the Elvhenan. Herald. Harbinger. Inquisitor. It didn’t matter. Titles mixed and spun away from her as she crawled her way blindly forward into the light.   
  
Her fingers bumped against the hilt and, laughing, Yael let each finger wrap around the pommel before raising it aloft. A surge of power hit her, but unlike the Well it brought with it no noise, no pain. A feeling of invulnerability overwhelmed her, limitless as the victories she would bring into the world.   
  
Sabine raged. Thrashing, spitting, screaming like a caged creature. How could she understand that she was never going to be the one to take the sword? It reminded her of Morrigan’s anger when she was denied the secrets of the Well. Who had let these shemlen believe that they had more of a right to elvhen history than the elves? Soon they would see what they kept buried all those ages.   
  
Yael walked down the dais, sword held tight in both hands. Solas was pleased and by proxy Mythal had graced her with a clarity that came with true purpose at last. But then she caught sight of Cullen. He would not look at her, his head hung low as he stared off at some far distant point. A part of her wished to go to him, to comfort him, but she knew not what she’d say.   
  
“Now, tell us how we leave here,” she demanded.  
  
“I believe you possess the key,” Solas nodded.  
  
The sword? The sword was the key for the eluvian? Yael walked to the platform on the opposite end of the pool, trailing water as she went up the stairs to the dormant mirror. Keeping the sword aloft she raised it so that it was level with the eluvian. It began to glow, radiant a white heat that nearly blinded Yael. Humming with an energy so powerful Yael could feel it in her bones. The transference of power was instantaneous. The sword’s radiance diminished as the mirror shimmered. Open once again.  
  
“Let’s go!” She urged her companions. She wanted nothing more than to leave the darkened halls of this temple.   
  
“The paths which we will walk, lethallan, will be unfit for shemlen.”  
  
“What are you saying?” Yael whirled on him. “Are you asking me to leave them here?”  
  
“He can ask all he likes, but it won’t happen,” Hawke assured.  
  
“Lethallan, they cannot follow where we will go. I am sorry.”  
  
“These are my friends you are speaking of. Solas! These are our friends!”  
  
“Yael!”  
  
The victory turned hollow in Yael’s eyes as she looked at her comrades and her god. Solas held nothing but sympathy for her now and she could see that he did not wish to compel her. Little did it matter. The compulsion was upon her to bend to his will whether or not he ever gave her a command. She would step in through the eluvian with Solas and he would lead her down the broken paths, the old and unseen byways her people had lost and together they would find the answers to restore it all. And in her wake she would leave her friends to find a new way out, and face a long and lonely trek back with nothing to show for it.   
  
“I...I won’t…” Yael whispered. The voices clamped down around her throat. The compulsion twisted at the apex of her chest, crushing her heart. “I won’t leave them!”   
  
Such defiance! Had she learned nothing after all? She would be made to obey. She would serve.   
  
Yael raised the sword again, muscle and sinew screaming and pulling at each other. Gritting her teeth she willed herself to action for herself. In her name. And in one brilliant act of rebellion, she brought the sword crashing down on the eluvian.


	24. Chapter 24

The eluvian shattered. The force of the explosion sent Yael skidding backwards to the edge of the pool, lying in a crumpled, bloody heap. The voices roared and rallied about her. She was a traitor after all, unfit to serve, and unworthy of the gifts Mythal had bestowed upon her. She couldn’t move. Had anyone ever defied the gods in such a fashion? It was maddening to think about.   
  
In the seconds it took for the eluvian to explode a chain reaction occurred throughout the chamber. A low rumbling built until the entirety of the temple seemed to groan on ancient, creaking joints and pitch forward, sliding further still into the earth. The stairs to the dais cracked as the pillars rattled at every side. Masonry from the ceiling fell into the pool.   
  
“It’s coming down!”  
  
“We have to get out!”  
  
“And how do you propose we do that when our only escape route just blew up in our faces?”  
  
But none of them were seeing what Yael was seeing. She was staring upwards at the light coming through, she could see the spiraling tree that still held position in the center, she could see it’s branches carrying them up and up back into the world above. Yael raised her arm, pointing upwards, praying that they saw. “The tree,” she whispered over and over again, trying to raise her voice.  
  
“Maker, she’s right. Look!”   
  
“We’ll never climb it in time, are you mad?”  
  
“What choice do we have!”  
  
Yael felt someone lift her up and sling them over their shoulder. Her fingers came up around a fur-lined cloak and she smiled to herself. Everything felt as if it was moving through water, still and ethereal like a dream. Voices grew muddled and dim. Creators, she must have hit her head harder than she thought. She was aware of being hauled up into the tree’s boughs.   
  
Was she climbing?  
  
No, she was being carried. Up and around the tight spiral of the trunk of the tree. The further up they went the more the light made it rather hard to see.   
  
“Hold on, Yael,” a voice said nearby, a voice she loved. “Hold on.”  
She wanted to tell the voice that she couldn’t. It was time to let go. But the sun was so bright, and the noise in her head was so loud, and his cloak was so warm. Her head lolled forward and she slipped, gratefully, in unconsciousness.  
  


* * *

  
  
The air around her was thick, smothering like a blanket over her mouth. Yael struggled but found she could only move her arms the slightest of inches. Colors moved past her eyes, but she wasn’t certain if her eyes were even open. A dream then. She settled, stopped struggling to push past the thick webs of air and let herself go slack, floating in the colored void.   
  
She turned her head and was almost surprised not to hear the cacophony of angered voices rattling around in her head. There was a pressure on her head that bordered on pain, but she pushed it down, let the feeling roll off of her like droplets of rain water. It was peaceful here, at least.   
  
But it couldn’t last. Yael fought her own fatigue in an attempt to open her eyes. At first she saw nothing more than great black mass, but it changed, formless as liquid, into the body of a wolf. The wolf sat at her side, many times her height. It’s beady, red eyes looked into her own. Yael shut her eyes again and breathed. The wolf had been snapping at her heels ever since she had left Skyhold to undertake this cursed calling. Cautiously, Yael struggled to wake, defying every muscle in her body she blinked open her eyes fully.   
  
She was no longer in the void. Colors and sounds floated down to her, reminding her that she was alive.   
  
She was lying in the shade of a tree, a blanket thrown about her. It was pain that came to her first. A line of it, as faint as an echo, scratched across her face. Yael remembered the Warden’s dagger in the heart of the temple. The sword….Creators, the sword!  
  
Yael gave a gasp as if she had been treading water and sat up to screaming protests from every fiber of her being. The sword was at her side, unsheathed. Yael relaxed almost at once as she took in the sight. For such an ancient blade it shone in the dappled sunlight as if newly polished. The hilt betrayed its true age, but Yael could feel the magic glinting off the weapon. Her fingers inched out to touch the pommel and she felt the threads of the Fade thrum against her, a comforting rhythm.   
  
“You defied me.”  
  
Yael turned her head at the intrusive sound. Solas sat back against the tree trunk, his hands hidden in his cloak. Her fellow elf stared at her with eyes as bleak as ice. Yael looked away, for once at a loss. For half a moment her heart leapt for joy at seeing her friend again before she remembered what he truly was, and what he had become.   
  
“You gave me little choice.” Her voice was painfully raw.   
  
“The compulsion to obey--it should have destroyed you before you ever had the chance.” Judging from the pensive expression upon his face, Yael guessed he was more curious than angered.   
“Well,” she shrugged her shoulders, “I was always the special one wasn’t I?”  
  
The half-hearted attempt at a smile wore away from Yael’s face. Solas had always been a quiet man, prone to melancholic and distant moods, but now he simply looked tired. And old, far older than she had ever thought possible. She had so many questions for him it was hard to figure where to begin.   
  
“So...you are Mythal?”  
  
“I am still Solas. There is simply more to that now.”  
  
“And what of Flemeth?” The old shem that had claimed to be the same goddess had broken Yael’s faith in her own gods once before. The fissured look that passed across Solas’ face revealed enough. Yael felt something hot and tight clamp down around her stomach. Was this what her gods truly were? Ancient beings squabbling over scraps of divinity and power? Constantly killing one another to gain their essences? The old stories, the tales sung to her by her Keeper and the elders of her clan, they felt baseless now. They mostly were baseless, the voices had revealed as much, but still...there was always the hope that some of them at the very least would prove true.   
  
Yael sighed and looked around. They were back out in the Tirashan, on the edges of the temple. Signs of the camp were all around her, from the burnt out cooking fire, to the litter of weapons and supplies. She could see Iron Bull clearing away the camp and Hawke sitting with her knees pressed against her chest, idly turning over dying embers with a stick.   
  
“I am glad to see the others made it out.” She could not see Cullen, but the man was most likely out helping to forage for food or water for the long journey home. Her heart twisted as she recalled the defeated look in his eyes when she had taken the sword. Another betrayal to add to the pile.  
  
She saw Solas nod from the corner of her eye. “I have heard them talk of returning to Skyhold.”  
  
“And you will not be joining us?” Yael inquired, already knowing the answer.   
  
“There is work still that must be done, places of power that need to awaken for our people to rise.”  
  
Solas had never referred to the other elves as his people. For months Yael had been furious that he could behave so callously to the people he shared blood with. Yet now he had enough generosity of heart for his fellow elves? It did not make sense. Yael felt with a twinge that he was not referring to the elves, but of something far beyond her. “My people need you, Solas, they don’t need dead legends or ancient power. They need justice.”  
  
“And vengeance?”  
  
“Is that not why you summoned me?”  
  
There was a faint smile hovering on the edge of Solas’ lips. “My friend, I would break this compulsion if I could.”  
  
“I would have aided you regardless of if I was under a compulsion.” Her own honesty startled her. “Where will we go next?”  
  
“You defy my orders, destroy an ancient artifact of our people, and you still expect I will take you with me?”  
  
“Of course.”  
  
The two smiled at one another, full of sorrow, small lies pulled tight against the skin. The voices in her head were calm and quiet in the wake of Solas’ presence. Yael knew her own mind, she had made this choice the moment she had taken up the sword.   
  
“Rest easy, Yael,” Solas rose to his feet, staff digging into the ground. “It will be a hard road ahead. Regain your strength, say your goodbyes, and find me when you are ready to depart.”

* * *

  
  
It took several more hours before she was able to rise to her feet again, and even then the ground seemed to shake beneath her feet. Yael steadied herself against the trunk of a tree, feeling her stomach lurch in displeasure. As quiet as the voices were, the geas she was under still seemed to be bent on punishing her for her earlier disobedience. She grinned to herself, for some reason she felt like a newly initiated First again, recklessly defying her Keeper and believing that she already knew all there was to know of magic and history. Yael coughed up a laugh. If her Keeper could see her now--the First of Mythal, The Acolyte of Elgar’nan in more than just painted word on her skin--what would she say?  
  
Humor left her as her strength returned. Somehow she could only picture Deshanna’s sad, old eyes. The little shake of disappointment she would give when Yael’s anger got the best of her at times. Can’t you see I’m doing this for you? She wanted to say to this shadow that haunted her. I’m doing this for all our people.   
  
The image of her Keeper faded from her mind’s eye and Yael was left alone, staring out at the campsite, watching her companions attend to their chores. A void threatened to open from within. She watched Dorian, Iron Bull, Blackwall, Hawke, and Cole all moving through the camp. Her friends. Creators only knew why they still called themselves her friends after all she had done, but here they were. Loyal to the last. Yael thought of those still left behind at Skyhold, of Josephine who always told her such fascinating stories of Antiva and took tea with her in the gardens after long, frustrating days. Of Cassandra who vexed and angered her, but challenged her to be a far better leader than she thought possible. Of Sera who kept her grounded and sane in a world they both oftentimes barely understood. Even Vivienne whom Yael loathed was missed for her astute advice. The mage would curse what Yael had become, but she would never counsel her away from seeking power that was rightfully hers.   
  
Cullen came back into the clearing, hoisting wood for a fire that he placed in the empty fire pit. Yael felt the traitorous prick of tears at the corner of her eyes, but she fought them down. He still had a life to live, he should be free to do so unbound from any promises he had made to her.   
  
Gathering her courage she strode into the middle of the camp. All activity ceased as she limped forward. “I must speak with all of you.”   
  
She already had their attention. Yael licked dry lips and looked down. “I have to thank you, for choosing to follow me. For the...loyalty, you have shown me. It is more than I have deserved of late.”  
  
“Boss, what’s with the speeches?” Iron Bull interrupted, the former Ben-Hassrath was too astute for him not to already guess her intentions. “Normally this is the kind of talk that happens right before someone disappears.”  
  
“The Inquisition would never have survived without you,” Yael went on. Bull’s good eye widened momentarily as he understood what she did not say. “And I...I have been honored to call you my friends…”  
  
“She isn’t coming back with us,” Cole explained, hands flinging up to the sides of his head as if to shield himself from this knowledge. “The voices are quiet but confident. Holding back the things she means to say. She has the voice of a god in her head. No...No!” The spirit shouted, striding over to her and standing so near to Yael his nose almost bumped up against hers. “You cannot leave! I can help. I can make the voices quiet so you can stay!”  
  
“You’ve helped enough, already Cole, more than enough.”  
  
“So...that’s what this is truly about.” Dorian placed a hand on Cole and gently moved the young man away. The spirit still trembled, hands clenched into fists at his sides, his pale face going a ruddy red.  
  
Yael was silent as her friend eyed her up and down. As hard as she imagined this being, the reality was so much worse. “You just leave us. After all of that. After everything we’ve seen and done and fought for you just disappear off into the world with that hermit, never to be seen again?”  
  
“Dorian it is far more complicated than just--”  
  
“No, it is simple. You have made a choice. A choice to abandon us and the Inquisition.”  
  
“A chance to save my people, Dorian. To lead them. Save them.”  
  
Dorian sighed, “So sickeningly noble. As ever.”   
  
Yael gasped as she was drawn into a fierce embrace by the mage. Her arms felt like lead weights, but she raised them up and around him all the same. “I knew this day would come,” he whispered close to her ear. “Suppose I have just been trying to put it off. You have to forgive a friend his sentiments.”  
  
“Lethallin, please believe me. I didn’t mean for…”  
  
“I know,” he squeezed her tight, “I know.”  
  
She wanted him to give more of a fight. She would have accepted his anger. Dorian never let her get away with anything. He was always there to set her straight, lift her spirits. The fact that she would never see him again filled her with an overwhelming dread. He released her, but Yael had no time to react before she was nearly bowled over by Iron Bull clapping her on the back.   
  
“So, all this stuff about elven gods and crazy shit like that. You’re buying it all whole sale?”  
  
A small smile cracked through Yael’s lips. “I’m afraid you were the one who told me I needed to be the Herald of something.”  
  
“Fuck, boss, I didn’t think you’d take it this seriously.”  
  
She was laughing even as the air was knocked from her lungs by Bull’s sudden and forceful hug. He put her back on the ground only reluctantly and Yael had the thought that he would have gladly slung her over his shoulder and run with her back to Skyhold before she could even think to protest. She looked over at Cole, the spirit who was hiding his face under his wide-brimmed hat and ringing his hands. “I couldn’t help you.”  
  
“That’s not true, Cole.”  
  
“Words pulling out from under the rest. I want to stay, I want home. There are the fears that never get spoken. You do and don’t want this. You will never have anything for yourself again. Stay and I will help. I will help!”  
  
“There comes a time, Cole, when you have to know when to let go,” Yael took the spirit’s hands in hers, rubbing her thumbs up and down the man’s knuckles. “You have to let me go.”  
  
“I don’t want to forget you. You helped me become me.”  
  
“You don’t have to forget. Remember. And move on.”  
  
“But it hurts.”  
  
“It will.”  
  
Cole faded from view, disappearing in a small cloud of ash. The voices made her more attuned to the spirit and she could feel his despair radiating around her like a darkened aura, but Cole was stronger than he knew. Even though he was a spirit he was always more than the components of compassion he was made up of. He would go back to Skyhold with the others. He would heal.   
  
Blackwall and Hawke stood at the outskirts of the camp. Yael did not know what to say to them as she approached. Blackwall had once been her closest companion, her most trusted confidant. He had given her the first glimmers of hope that her choices had been the right ones, that her path was a noble one. But that had all been a lie, a ruse meant to save his own skin.   
  
The Warden looked surprised that she was even approaching him. “For what it’s worth,” Blackwall said, “I believe you are doing the right thing.”  
  
“You do?”  
  
“You always have done. Defending your people? Seeking justice for those that have never known any? For all the talk that says you’ve changed I see no difference from the person who stood at the center of all the chaos and tried to save the world.”  
  
Yael could have laughed. Were they back at Haven again and was he talking her down from the latest angered snap or argument with Vivienne or her advisors? She looked down at the hand Blackwall extended for her. Reluctantly, she took it, shaking it. It did not feel like forgiveness, not truly, but it felt like something akin to reconciliation.   
  
The Champion shuffled from foot to foot. “Well, I just think you’re mad. I think this whole thing is mad. I think the whole world has gone mad and you’re liable to get yourself killed before you save your people.”  
  
“Says the woman who destroyed a city to free the mages.”  
  
“The world will think you a traitor, you realize that. The Inquisitor who abandoned her own Inquisition at the behest of a heretical god? Every human in Thedas will want your blood for what you will bring down upon them.”  
  
“They are certainly welcome to try and claim it, for all the good it will do them.”  
  
Hawke grinned. “Like I said. Mad. But it’s been an honor to know you, Yael Lavellan. I hope our paths cross again.”  
  
“I as well, Hawke, safe travels. I hope you find your way home.”  
  
They clasped hands before Yael turned and realized that the last remaining face she had been eager to see was no longer near. In the flurry of embraces and goodbyes she hadn’t kept track of where he had gone. Her heart gave a lurch. Cullen would only have left if there was something he did not want the others to see.   
  
Yael left the campground, looking back at the others as they watched her. She was reminded of the day she had left her clan to go to Haven and the Conclave. How they had all watched her retreat as she disappeared behind the tree line for a foreign land beyond the Waking Sea. For the second time in her life Yael felt the pull of leaving behind her family. She turned her back and let the others join the rest of the ghosts of her past.   
  


* * *

  
  
The clearing wasn’t too far away from the campgrounds, and it had been relatively easy to guess where Cullen had wandered off. The break in the trees spilled out to from the bank of a small lake that looked rather more like an oversized pond. Against the line of the trees the tops of Elgar’nan’s Temple were still visible. Yael stepped into the clearing as quietly as she could, watching Cullen. He stood with his back to her, arms crossed and shoulders hunched. Footprints on the silted banks revealed that he had been furiously pacing back and forth moments before. His head was lowered, dejection and resignation heavy in the open space between the two of them.  
  
Yael felt the fraying cord holding them together snapping and spinning away from her. She padded over to him and placed a hand upon his shoulder. He turned around, flinching away as if he had been stung. There was that familiar look in his eyes, the one he carried when thinking too hard on solutions that did not exist to problems that were too great to be moved. A hundred words flooded her mind, but nothing she could say seemed sufficient.   
  
“What are you still doing here?” Cullen asked, eyes narrowing. “I would have thought you gone with Solas already.”  
  
“And leave you without a word?”  
  
“Have you not done that before?”  
  
The accusation was biting and deserved, but Yael winced to hear it all the same. She breathed in deeply, eyes closing momentarily as she let Cullen’s anger wash over her. “Are these to be the last words we say to one another?”  
  
“Last…?”  
  
Yael noted the tremors in Cullen’s hands, the anger replaced by a lost emptiness. “I know you do not believe me, but I wish this could be different. That I could be different, for your sake. But my people need me, Cullen. I don’t know how to make you understand, perhaps I can’t. Hate me if it is easier, ma’vhenan.”  
  
“And the Inquisition? Do they not need you? Your friends? Your soldiers? And what of Elianwy does she not need you too?”  
  
The heavy void from her dreams threatened to smother her where she stood at the mention of her clanmate. Little Elianwy with her constellation eyes and sweet demeanor. She’d leave her in the hands of the shemlen to raise her? Her heart twisted. Solas would never let her return for her, it would distract from their mission, it would be too dangerous to take a young child where they would be bound to roam. “Elianwy needs more than I can give her…”   
  
“You are running again.” There was no mercy in Cullen’s voice. “You would abandon everything you have built, everyone you swore to protect.”  
  
“I never asked to be Inquisitor!” Yael’s anger was always a force to be reckoned with, but up against Cullen it was nothing more than a storm thrashing against a mountain. “I was First of my clan, I am Keeper now! I am Dalish. That is is who I am. I abandoned my people to help form this Inquisition it was they who I betrayed first!” She shoved him hard, “I will not turn my back on them again!”  
  
“So you will turn your back on me instead.”  
  
Yael covered her face with her hands, anger crashing up against the black sorrow welling up from within. She screamed between clenched teeth feeling her body caving inwards on itself. Panting, she felt Cullen’s hand against her head, felt him step closer to her. “You will really go?” he asked her, raising her head, thumb tracing just under her eye. “You would truly leave?”  
  
“If it means saving my people than I must, but please, Cullen, this is the hardest thing I have ever done. I don’t want to leave you,” she admitted, “I never did.”  
  
“Then my path is clear. I’m going with you.”  
  
Yael shook with silent laughter. “You can’t come with me, ma’vhenan. This road is not for you. You could never abandon your soldiers, nor the cause of the Inquisition. I know you too well.”  
  
“If your cause is no longer the Inquisition’s then it is no longer mine,” he pulled her into a fierce embrace, head buried against her hair. Yael could feel his breath against her neck, his hands clawing at her back. “Let me go with you.”  
  
It was tempting. So very tempting to encourage him to throw away all his oaths and let him go with her. The journey would be a long and lonely one, but with Cullen at her side it might be bearable, but the thought of him watching her disintegrate and change with every well of power she would find, of having him watch her become nothing more than the cause for the Elvhen, she could not do that to him.   
  
“Elianwy cannot lose us both,” she whispered. “She will need you. Our...our daughter will need her father.”  
  
A strangled cry escaped Cullen’s lips as he held Yael all the tighter. “Go back to Skyhold,” she urged, turning her face so that she could whisper against Cullen’s ear. She raised a hand to cup the back of his head, fingers tangling in his blond curls. She smiled faintly, breathing him in, rocking them both on their heels. “Go and help lead this Inquisition, raise our child, and live, ma’vhenan.”   
  
They pressed their foreheads to one another, breathing in the shaking silence. Yael knew she had convinced him, that he would let her leave, but she could feel a small part of him chip away in the process the same part that sloughed off of her.   
  
“Yael.”  
  
She looked up at the sound of her name, seeing Solas against the backdrop of the trees. She nodded and turned back to Cullen. The light in his eyes was despairing, but they were dry and determined. “Wait,” he urged, digging a hand into his pocket before pulling out a simple ring.   
  
Yael’s eyes widened as he placed the ring in the palm of her hand. The band was made of ironbark, she could see the metal shards along the smooth and polished wood. Her heart sank at the defeated smile upon Cullen’s face as he watched her. “I...had been waiting for the proper moment,” he admitted. “But it does not matter now. This is yours.”  
  
She closed her fingers around it. “Ar lath ma, vhenan.”  
  
“I...I would ask you what that means, but I believe I know.”  
  
Yael kissed him, a clumsy meeting of lips and frenzied touch. Cullen held her tight, memorizing the feel of her. Yael broke away first, as she had to, and backed away. Cullen kept her hands in his until he could no longer reach her. She turned and headed off to join Solas. “Yael!” she heard Cullen call out. “You will bring your people the hope they are looking for.”  
  
She let herself look back at him one last time. “How do you know that?”   
  
“Because you gave me hope when I believed I had none left.”  
  
Yael felt the world spiral away from her, the last cord severed. “Goodbye, my love,” Cullen said, nodding as if to tell her it was going to be all right.   
  
“Goodbye, ma’vhenan.”  
  
She turned and this time did not look back. She left the clearing, walking side by side with Solas who handed her a spare pack of supplies. Yael slung it over her shoulder with a tired sigh. They walked in silence save for the occasional tap of Solas’ staff upon an upturned branch or fallen log. Yael nearly jumped when he placed a comforting hand upon her shoulder. It was hard to remember at times, that this man was still her closest friend and not merely the vessel for her god, and perhaps there was always something more beyond that. Yael felt a twinge as she looked over at him, the same feeling she got from her wolf dreams. Her Keeper would have laughed at her for thinking such a strange though. But if Mythal was real then surely….no...it was too unbelievable.  
  
“We are being followed,” Solas pointed out, noting the line rolling hills at their side.   
  
Yael saw the lone figure he spoke of. The flash of red in the sunlight. Sabine Cousland was nothing if not determined. “Let her follow. Perhaps our journey will lead her to the answers she seeks.”  
  
“And what do you believe she truly seeks, lethallan?”  
  
“Freedom isn’t it?”  
  
She could tell from the hum that left Solas’ lips that he agreed with her. Yael tipped back her head, letting the dappled warmth of the sun wash over her, letting the heartache caress her, but not break her. With every step she left her old life behind her. For once the voices in her head whispered to her of secrets and knowledge she had the capacity to understand now. She felt her people reach out from across the ages and embrace her fully as their own, as their hope. She closed her eyes and sighed, for once all was peaceful and all was silent. 


End file.
